the sound of his voice saying my name soothed me, and that's all i wanted hear him say. just my name, over and over and over again in his buttery baritone. i wanted my name to be his mantra, the word he meditated on, his tool for finding calm in the world.
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deadroses || poetry
Poetry"we had a vision though, now we dead roses" now, why did she send them? these broken down, wilted, beat up, rotten-looking flowers.
