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Perspective: Ten Falls On Twelve In New Wave

I miss someone that I don't remember being with. But the presence is so clearing that all I can think on is his air. And I look up to find his reach for me and carry me to a space somewhat of a pocket in the fold of time where everything we are meant for is each other. I feel wind press through my strands and I feel a cool burn on my skin. Catching his rays to warm my shield and make me shine brighter more golden and in time I am a product of my maker. And a sparkling thing that he'll show off and parade around and I like to be carried in this way. Keep me off my feet and call me by your last name. I'm a free bitch. Don't judge my existence in the future reach and forgetting this now where I am tied to another pulling down and depressed as fuck. Ugh. Don't remind me. I'm told my future is bright and I get ready in the middle of the night, stay up ready for early morning, being myself and better to be in practice for a time where it matters. For a time when I am seen and liked and not pushed on by someone wanting to feel best at any cost. I have to be honest now, tight lips don't save lives. You there, like me before, if you find a man and call it love, make sure it's not you sacrificing self in order to prove that you can make them worthy. They don't fucking follow through, make yourself ready for the one who always is. Happy New Moon love.

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