Of Sometimes

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Sometimes as the night begins to settle
into yesterday and it's not quite tomorrow
I can feel the absence in my pulse—a heavy pause in breath
the weight confines me—and I become
more free than I have ever been. Those moments utter of simply the insinuation of hours —that never past. And I
let them wind themselves into my hair—find their way through my ears
through my yesterdays —So many moments whispering in so many voices until I am finally lost. It is only then I become me. Inside—that may never be—my voice heard
and then abandoned perhaps. For these moments
I am we.

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