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I fit into you like South America into Africa. without you, I drift: my thoughts become oceans; miles of water between jigsaw coasts. buildings swallow people (just like love) and spit them out again when fluorescence makes their eyes ache and their hearts long for the sun. all the uncertain islands of missing pieces come together - strong, solid ground - in your eyes. turn back time-floods bring us together again. |
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Every piece of me that goes into this suitcase - folded neatly; screaming quietly: "twenty-one days!" - it tears a hole. Everything that I am is here; is you. Home doesn't travel well at all. How can I leave? How can I fly away? I'll go, and I won't cry. But every step I take while far away will bring me a step closer to home, and every moment a little nearer to it being over. |