Friday, August 12, 2011

If you were water, I'd die of thirst.

I'm home.

And now it doesn't much feel like I left.

And I remember that night that I cried in that room, that happened both two nights ago and a year ago,
though both remarkably about very similar ordeals,

And how I reached out and I read my book and I listened to my music and
none of it was working

and then I wrote a page of poetry and that was that.

Love, Laura.

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