I fell in love with a poet once. She had laughter in her voice and a fondness for broken boys. She was organic, earthly and of nature. Sometimes when I walk on soil, bare footed and grounded, I still feel the tendrils of her warm heart, interlocked loosely around my feet, softly tugging at me, begging me to come home

– 9:30 (THE ART OF LOSING ISN’T HARD TO MASTER)

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