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Instrumental

I felt the hurt embedded in the hills of his eyes. Things were getting better but I was feeling bitter. He was that sour taste that would always linger in the halls of this empty home around winter. Each winter would be colder and my tired eyes would grow Older. I feel old. Old without a hand to hold. A heart to love. This constant swaying in my stomach I try to PUSH and SHOVE.... these people away.....I am grey. Without its pigment. I've lost my color. All because he left. That one winter. I should have know when the birds flew south. Or when that salty pungent taste left my mouth. You were gone. Gone for good...

fadingfatality

@fadingfatality

18.Writing for the sake of writing.

26
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