Day 6

Your hair falls in the same way mine does, over one shoulder, uneven ends trailing down your chest. You’re roughly a head taller than me but that might be your shoes. A name like yours is unnatural shortened but still, you have chosen this label that trips me up. It’s too immediately familiar. You speak about a new opportunity, not with wistfulness but restlessness. It’ll tie you down and you want absolute freedom. In you, there is a bright glowing place. I’d like to see you stand upright, holding a cigarette upright between angled fingers, hair piled on your head.

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