I held my breath under volumes of pressure.
I let my fingertips stain your lips with tobacco.
I followed you secretly to an abandoned parking lot,
Where I died beside flowers waiting for you.
You never smiled or even looked towards me.
I imagined a revolution that will never take place.
And then, here you come, like a dream, entering without conviction,
And so I press my body hard into yours.















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O Divine Master Grant That I May Not So Much Seek To Be Consoled As To Console, To Be Understood As To Understand, To Be Loved As To Love - Sarah Mclachlan
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