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Shattered Midnight

shattered-midnight

Today I couldn’t seem to get the right measurement of honey on to my spoon.

It was always too much, or not enough.

And I have to wonder if I love the same way.

The first night I spent under your sheets, you told me to save your address as my second home.

The last night I was in your bed was the last time I saw you.

I cried on that midnight drive knowing our walls would never fuse together to form a “home”.

The truth is, my first home is six feet under the ground, and I never planned on moving anywhere else after that.

But, home, do you remember that night?

The night the lightning looked like fireworks.

You pressed your lips in between my shoulders, and said you wished every night looked like this one; I still don’t know what you meant.

Did you want to keep your arms around me, or keep the shattering show in the sky?

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