On days like this, I remember
drawing pictures
and writing you poetry
before I visited the
place you worked,
it was just down the street
from the library.
In the most still room
the day looked colder than it felt.
From those high windows
I looked over the busy street and I wondered
how I could ever lose you.
Now our love is like a pillow fight
We laugh
And we laugh
Until someone falls off the bed
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