A refrigerator more full of alcohol than food. A ruined blanket.
Stains mar the un/seen. The season breathes down your neck,
runs electric down the small of your back. Proximity often mistaken
for intimacy. Lives changed with one question followed by one word
replies. Empty roads symptomatic of a season. Heart beats steady,
head filled with nothing. Where are they? Where are they? Gone.
The emptiness fills in a way only it can. After this the old routines
resume. Rotating along its axis we hardly ever notice. Winter now.
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