anticipation of this
i'm half a week early but this is already the past
and the trees have always been like this
but it's like ice melting slowly, dripping on your hand
that gets so pale in winter
or the shadows of summer spreading themselves out
on the dirt in front of you
the path behind
and a marble gaze like jupiter and
that huge fucking red storm in it
and no one saw where it came from
but we struggle to pick up unconvincing pieces
preparing for next time, bracing for the worst
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