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Plans for early Spring, 2021.

I’m going to get home and make a rhubarb and blackberry pie. My fingers are going to be tinted red, and you will be so happy.

There were nights where I would imagine you in a field of bluebells

in May

looking around and jumping from one side of the torrent

to the other.

Your hair was long, and your feet wrapped tightly in your brown leather shoes –

You would look at the world with a sense of displacement that would sit at the back of your retina and would paint your eyes grey, so that I couldn’t tell if you hated

the flowers

or if you were grieving

our youth instead;

while the bluebells shined under the rain, our skin was marked by all of our bad choices.