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  • I want to go back, my love,

    go back to before we had

    granite counter tops and

    a three story house.

    I want to go back to the

    one bedroom apartment

    the simple life of

    college oblivion.

    Take me back to when

    we loved with eyes

    closed and longing

    only we understood.

    Now the silence of

    betrayal has set in again-

    the ticking of the clock

    the buzzing in the trees.

    Sleeping in separate rooms,

    thrashing ourselves

    against the walls,

    cleaning up the mess of it all.

    In the silent death of

    our routine

    the monotony of healing

    (yet again) begins.
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