How do I show that nothing, not a taste, not a smell, not even the color of the sky has ever been as clear and sharp as it was when I belonged there. I don't know how to express that being somewhere so dangerous was the last time I felt safe. Even so I find myself thinking of it, wanting to feel that wind. It's a secret wanting. Like a song I can't
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I don't get to read your journal and that makes me sad.
But I still love you.
<3
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