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She asked why I carried red.

I said nothing. Above us, sunlight broke in secret fragments, neither chasing nor fleeing. Blue clung to her, soft as a promise that can never be forgotten.

The men in black came. I met them. She moved to the shadows and then back to me again. The forest listened to the meeting of what wounds and what restores. And the sun, patient as always, did not look away.



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Miram · 31-35, F
Both drawings aren't mine.

 
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