1:24 am//poetry

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in four weeks, my skin will no longer remember what it feels like when you touch me. four weeks until each cell is made anew and your touch is no longer part of me. but my head and heart, as hard as i try to, cannot forget. each time your hand brushes against mine. each time your fingers run intricate paths along my knuckles. each time my head sits between your head and strong shoulders. each time you mindlessly trace patterns across my arm. every time you touch me.

-little things always seem to be the most memorable