There's something in my closet. Its raspy monster breath makes my curtains flutter at night. I tell my mom, but she says it's just the sound of the wind whispering secrets to the moon.
There's
...
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I am unable to sit down.
How my hand has touched so many places like this,
places I am unable to inhabit but have grown to love
despite my best efforts.
A pair of squirrels languidly follow each other to a tree.
It is starting to rain, but the tree cover is impenetrable.
How I wish you were here with me,
watching the squirrels’ tails dampen with the rain water.
As I sit here, I consider the curls that stick to the nape of your neck.