February 2012
Dear You,
I ran to the water, to the faded grey of midmorning ponds. they were layered in a string of faint webs, oak leaves caught in the wind of a spider.
But before I could touch the little streams, I tumbled over a mossy rock and found myself stumbling under a tree trunk, under a constellation of birch chests.
My breath skipped over me and fell into the water, dribbling out to...
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