A yellow hand hanging in the air as if to call someone back.

Going back

I go back to February all the time.

I go back to the warmth of your hand,

To the sound of your laughter.

I keep going back to that night,

Dim street lights illuminating.

I go back to 3AM,

To the sound of escape.

I keep going back to your soft voice,

Your jacket around my shoulder.

And I go back all the time.

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