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After a thousand afternoons ,when my age didn't tick my bones and his would accumulate with candles -I liked how my name sounded off his lips. There was so much reassurance from how he looked at me, like I’m nothing different than him. And right beside the shores of his hometown he asked me
“What are we ?”
I had left even before we could write down an answer. It must’ve been painful to wake up to any empty bed. He must’ve searched his house. He would have called me over and over again. I wouldn't have liked how it sounded off his lips.