Boxes of letters have been shredded, but I won’t wipe your handprints from the sliding glass door. “Fine,” you said, “Leave. But I know who you see when you close your eyes at night.”
All our lost potential, our sorry scars. In the post office of star-crossed lovers, you wink from the sheriff’s posters, fugitive. Come home. Where is my twin ruin, my holy solace? Nothing kneels down in my tiny life – this cathedral where your face stains the windows.
- Eireann Corrigan
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Tons of love and hugs. I am always over here rooting for you. I want you to find that place so badly. I know you eventually will. xo