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We walk among the willows

and our words, like tiny fists,

beat back the wind and the silence at the edge of the world.

 

And you tell me of wounds,

wounds and rage,

but your eyes tell me secrets that lips can never say.

 

The words in our fists shake with the weight

of all we do not say,

all you believe you can never be.

 

The wind between our words, like a lion,

rips my exposed skin brutally,

and yet it tells me a truth, this truth:

 

my love, someday you will know how to hope again.

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