She'd wrap her fingers around my arm and tug me to her chest in hopes that I would stay. I've wished for those pure moments again to redo but I know that the time I had with her was wasted on my fingertips ghosting over her knee longing to make her ache in the way she did me.
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PoetryI have to fight for a sense of stability and to resist the impulses of the moment. In which I run away from the good.
