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It starts again, breath tangled in between the sheets, my hand in yours feels awkward, and paleness of the skin along the knuckles is entwined with metal. My bedroom window stained by remnants of the apple tree in bloom. Draw back the curtain - stare greedily into the night and catch its icy breath on the edge of the sill spread out the air that grew unsteady in between your palms and fall. |