A green arm held out limply with the fingers spread out widely, their nails painted neon pink.

Wounded

When I think of you,

I think of 3AM walking aimlessly.

I think of the soft light

Illuminating your skin.

Your slow laughter in the air,

A deep and comforting sound.

Your footsteps matched with mine,

Your jacket around my shoulders

Hands that don’t fit –

Sadly licking each other’s wounds

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