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    the truth about pale mornings

    • CICADA
    • By CICADA

    by Autumn Grace


    i.  you think it would be easier,
        the pink morning, the crinkled sheets
        it is the third time after all,
        the empty bed, the warm imprint
        but somehow it’s harder

    ii. you think you would know,
        the outstretched arm, the hollow wishes
        that what should be isn’t always what is,
        the dirty floor, the scattered clothes
        but somehow you don’t

    iii. you think perhaps you should stop,
        the single shoe, the trembling hands
        this endeavor is leading nowhere,
        the closed eyelids, the mumbled words
        but somehow you can’t

    iv. you think maybe they are foolish,
        the empty mug, the folded note
        for returning again,
        the unruly hair, the dark room
        but somehow the leaving matters more

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