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wild cherries

You remind me of eating
wild cherries
in my backyard
at 8 years old,
now I’m 23
looking into mirrors
unsure of whether it’s
blood on my teeth
or seeds that had popped
licking the sweetness
off my lips
thinking of how your birthday
falls so close to Christmas
and how crackling firewood
reminds me of chances
you told me too late
you “just couldn’t take”
you’d look at me
with a face I’ve come to know too well
like it was about to hurt
and you’d say you missed me
but not enough
to speak up
blank dreams
I sketched
and colored in
you were doing the same,
but now bitterness
is at a standstill
anger is gone
and my voice doesn’t want to be reminded
of the pain I’ve almost forgot,
no more future
in my sketchbook
no more love
in these lines.

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