Whispers through me

The memory we created that night comes asking for blueberries when I close my eyes. Purple juice carries more weight when pinched between two fingers. Tomorrow jumps two ways if we let it. A comet tells its tale for only a moment, though its arc burns purple against black, as if we should be expected to remember the contrast. That night I held her hair in my fingers. Promises of tomorrow whisper through me still, echoes smoldering in a crescent-shaped bend near places I had forgotten could feel warmth.

Whispers through me

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