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Yellow Sleeves


The first time I saw you, the water was cold enough to pull the air out of my lungs, and the breeze was warm enough to fill them again.

That morning’s storm reminded me that sunlight is only eternal, until it is not.

You told me to think of love as an oasis.

To know that at the end of each day, we would form our own island between sheets and pillows.

To drink in words from unspoken languages that traveled their whole lives just to embrace.

You never asked me what my favorite color was, you somehow already knew.

You kept your hands busy with the hems of my sleeves, and my rings of silver and amber.

But now, I melt onto a couch that is not yours, and find the last time I spoke your name still taped on the bottom of my lips.

As if it’s not quite ready to release it’s grasp from my mouth.

You are as easy to speak of as you are to speak to, and I suppose that counts as magic.

Are you slowly disentangling, or were you just never holding on in the first place?

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