Natasha Pavlova

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I want to tether my friends to the rooftop railing the way we once pinned a blanket to the beach with shoes, books, bags of carrots, wine in a can. How we flexed and curled our toes until we found the damper sand, the soft homes of crabs below. But the wind won’t stop coming.
The World Keeps Ending, and the World Goes On
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