All these days string together, blending and twisting. Mixing and muting they swirl and become difficult to differentiate. There are times that stand alone like a monument above trees, then there's the other times that seem unique but only remind me of nothing, like the dead leaves fallen, huddled under the wrong tree, next to said monument.
No matter the day, I can smell your hair when the breeze strikes up and I can taste you as I am sustained by life. These days that blur may just be caused by you, I never remember a day without you and the comfort is found in exactly that.
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