Sweat drips down the seat in the sweltering summer sun. It's left front your bare back laying on the hot leather. I dare not wipe it. It's all that's left of the moments we shared together. When all that's left is the sweat, the remains mean little now. The sweat evaporates out and floats away like jigsawed memories. And I say bring on the sweet summer rain. Wash me. Make me whole again.
#2
So if you think this all makes sense I would say you are crazier than I. Which makes sense I suppose. Sometimes words themselves seem to call out and other times I can search and search for a word that doesn't exist. So forever I'll hunt for what no longer (or never) exists. So as the minutes tick by I'll keep eyes and ears open, patient for it all make sense, patient for you to find me. The words, the answers.
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