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Flawed Surfaces
My body is a flawed surface,
a canvas of memories,
a field of dreams.
It will never forget
the way my heart beat
with every kiss on my bruised skin,
or the lingering scent
of your cologne
on my pillow,
hours after you had left.
My body is a flawed surface,
learning what to love,
and what to fear.
Learning what to forgive,
and what to forget.
And, with each day
that passes,
it will go on.
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