something i wrote in bed on a wonderfully windy night

i don’t want to look outside, even tho it’s a nice night. i don’t wanna see the gazebo, even tho the trees there are bending in the breeze and it looks very poetic — leaves taking flight like butterflies on the eve of autumn. i don’t want to imagine him standing there messing around with his phone, smoking. instead i flip thru a magazine and look at colorful photos of handbags, Versace ads and models looking amazing in their clothes.

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