January 11

Sometimes you make me feel like a clock that runs backwards. I keep going back to the times when we laughed at dazzling stars and broken skies, made love under worn out blankets, nestled on the branches of a sycamore tree, plucked berries, walked along the coast on warm summer nights, talked of the waning moon…we were like the needles of that clock that chased each other to keep up with time, weren’t we? But, one day, the clock stopped for you had packed your bags and left. 

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