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Sunrise Faith
The Dime
wilowisp
I remember red, and Dawn. There was a time you came from the north, creeping over the edge of the house. Mornings are meant to be empty, silent and alone. It's our time, in secret, and you've always been in love with me, haven't you? Despite the chill or the heat, the crooked curl to my hair or sand still spread in my eyes. I dress in silver, but I've learned to love gold, your gold, your simmer and grow. Body recline and breath slow, trailing fingers, and then, god... such schism scissoring across my skin. Is it any wonder I wake up with cuts along my face? Absence tied to a view of circles instead of lines, self-contained water drops instead of the cold, lonely road.

Then there was the brushing, a smooth caress of ginger and clove and honey. Maybe it was imagined. Maybe it was my own hand against my own cheek in my own bed. I thought of you. I looked for you. I found small pieces in unexpected places; under the pans, behind the couch, in the cupboard with my schoolbooks. Greedy sky eats my warmth. I stand by a winter grave, black skirt trailing in the wind.

I am still able to sleep. I am still able to wake up and make myself my small breakfast. A great deal of strength can be harvested from a deep faith in Some Day.

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if if if if if if if canim, sen guzel adam, sen acli odan.
if if if if if if if
if if if if if if if
if i ever ever ever have enough money, i'm going to pay you to write and live in my house and read to me.

i can find hidden things anywhere, even where they aren't:
"your simmer" = yours immer (immer being the german word for always)

you haven't taken german, have you? did you put that in there, or am i seeing ghosts again?

Gods, I wish I had meant that... but that one I can't even claim unconsciously. You must live in such a rich world, if you always see things like that. I'm envious.

Rich with figments of my imagination. Rich with lies... It's beautiful, but invisible cake is hard to cut dearest.

Maybe try passing it out first?

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