Currents

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The air is both stale and dead
Awkward silences between what we meant and what we've said
Open palm perch for a heavy head
While my wandering eyes roll back and forth again
My mind sinks its teeth into these sinking feelings
Revealing the dark gray clouds lingering in the lowered ceiling
Smells like rain again
With a taste of salt upon the breeze
Reveries of when you were the air I breathed
Now anchored in a harbor with our eyes turned towards the sea
Lost tides carrying remnants of the lovers we used to be

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