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■ The oak
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I can see your shadow
vibrating on the grains of sand, I can hear the air you grasp for breathing, I can smell the cold from your skin, each time a wave is biting you, and still, I’m afraid of not being there. I can see your argent body, burning amorphous, mirroring the sun, I can hear your smile, touching your teeth, playing music for me to dream. I can taste your blood as it’s feeding your heart, and I can hear your blink taking photos of the sea, and still, I’m afraid of not being there.
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