We walked, not yet hand in hand, only swinging silently, barely grazing, nothing to prove, the absence of warm sand - I thought I never wanted to leave the city, that in that moment I could laze forever in a room with one window, until outside next winter's falling snowflakes would dance for us behind the cold glass, and freeze our indecisive hearts at that fruitful moment before they learn how to ache, break, or give more than take.
Summer thawed us, then. I cant remember how to feel how I felt. Why do the ripe ones rot so soon? It is not yet even June.
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