the quiet morning. pale skies. waiting for the fog of sleep to lift
everything feels numbered these days
lunches with my my friends
the commutes to work that i take for granted
the way the sun looks at five
the clouds bursting in pinks and oranges
the way the sirens blare in this country
i hold these moments tight
like the morning awaiting would plummet me into darkness
instead of the suns radiant light
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