The air overhead cutting like glass from diamonds Forgetting is the last promise we can make as we lie there, eyes skyward, watching a spinning thing like a plate of glass Like a high-pitched whine rattling in my ears I realize I am thinking of something that happened once and was never spoken of again Like frost on a windowpane Like the tree that bows against the wind Like the whisper of this pen across the page leaving ink in patterns like words in its wake What happened to the games we played? What happened to the fires and melted plastic? Where are the girls who never called us back? Where are the ones who got away? The truth is we didn't know what it was or if it even happened We just knew we were happy to escape breathless to my room and imagine that everything was still the same Like the shine of glass in the dark sky Like a mirror wide above us reflecting tomorrow
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