Pluviophile

Pluviophile

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WpMetadataReadComplete Sun, Jan 24, 20161h 0m
It was a rainy day, in New York no less. One held a cup of coffee, wishing for the rain to stop. One held a hand full of old books, savouring the moment. short story #98 poetry #51
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pluviophile
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The world is loudest when the city is quietest. At 3 AM, with the rain falling outside my window and the empty coffee mug beside me, I finally stop running. This is where my thoughts gather-the uncomfortable, the honest, the deeply personal truths about my life since you left. This book is the unfiltered transcript of those lonely hours. It's an inventory of old habits and empty spaces, a collection of unsent texts, vivid memories, and the awkward, necessary steps of building a self I no longer recognize. It's not a guide to getting over it; it's simply what it feels like to be in the thick of it. This is what I thought, what I felt, and what I realized when the sun wasn't watching. Enjoy reading, loves. ♡⃛

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