Leaving one fire doesn't mean you won't walk straight into another. Sometimes your eyes are still full of smoke. You can't see the flames until you're already burning again.
A poetry library for the things that bruise us, the things that bloom anyway, and everything we become in between.
Leaving one fire doesn't mean you won't walk straight into another. Sometimes your eyes are still full of smoke. You can't see the flames until you're already burning again.
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