I should be writing but then again I should be arranging flowers
I should wash my self
Delicately
Immaculately
I should clean the sheets
But it’s too late
P e r f u m e
Of my flowers before they die.
Until tomorrow there will be no sun
I should be reading
and combing my hair (It is so damage, and yet all this is about learning
to love,
even me)
And breathing
And living.
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