5.2.18

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I trace infinity signs over clothed skin,
knowing fully that they are as meaningless
as this thing is.
I'm no good with labels,
but I wish I knew what to call this.
Is it a "thing"
is it a "fling"
are we just "nothing?"
I'm not ready to leave you for three whole months,
but I'm also not ready to drive 103 miles to see you.
Somewhere in between missing you
and missing so much more.

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