January 21st
I don't know. I could write all night. Write it like you'd actually read it. Write it like it's really love. Cause for now, it is. You haven't the chance to prove otherwise. But as the barren cold of a modern wasteland cakes the earth with polluted ice, I find the silence of your dream, endlessly deep and dark coating the entire reaches of my mind. The black that stretches forever like an endless pour of oil, or a never ending wind of murky, smoke filled water. My steps and expression locked. Battened down and warm, the ice biting at my skin, tearing through the layers, seem but a mere acknowledgment, no longer sensation. I want to take control. Step into you. I want your dream to overtake me. To escape another winter in your arms.
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