i don't know how to stop writing about youMature

My heart is just a pile of luggage by the door,
the first sign I’m leaving, the last thing you’ll remember.
We walked along the river once in the summer
and the dirt roads were dry but that was the year
everything flooded so bad that houses went up for sale in record number.
I think of how long deserts go without water
and I wonder if your heart is a desert or if
it is the flood.

The End

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