I sat gazing out the window this evening on the train home, thinking about that delicate thread of a moment one February night that indanced with someone someone who wasn't mine in a soft snowfall, just for a moment, and we kissed under a streetlight.
I wonder if I should make note of all of these moments I can just about recall, track them across old journals. I still don't think love is ever wrong, i just wish it hung around.
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