sheela

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Ledger loosens his hold, sliding his hands to the sides of my face, our eyes fastening, fusing. With his hands molded to my jawline, his lips press to my forehead for the span of two breaths. One breath, I love you. Two, and goodbye. Then he’s a breeze. Nothing but a cool gust with his sweater-clad back as my final photograph in time.
If We Disappear Here
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