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When it’s dark,

and if this was the country there’d be fireflies,

I think of the roses outside of my grandma’s house

and your bright blue shoes,

and how they mixed together in a pool of purple,

quivering in front of the crack at the end of the driveway

while I was thinking of nothing but myself

dragging you to abandoned playgrounds 

and the untouched swing set outside the elementary school.

and how you thought of nothing at all

watching me sway back and forth like a pendulum.