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Tomorrow
The swirl of loneliness sounds like TV static that woke her at 3am.
She lies there, wondering if the next day will bring what she wished yesterday had.
The echo fills her veins, sharp and strong.
At the top of tomorrow, the sun will wait.
It feels like hope heading towards you head first.
“Stick the shape of the past in your back pocket,” the sun says.
“And ride with me, to tomorrow.”
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