Poem #88

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I went a single summer without getting stung. But I also never left the house. The beach is my favourite place to be yet somehow, I didn't even see it this summer. Somehow, I didn't swim. It's September and I'm breathing but not well. Summer is over. I didn't see my friends. I didn't fall in love. I laid there in my bed and rot. I can't remember laughing or even having a good day. Summer is over and I'm exactly the same. I wish I got stung. I wish I got to feel the sand burn my feet. I wish I got to walk around town at night and hear mine and my friend's laugher. I wish I lived this summer.

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