Brenda

Fall to the bed as a page of problems scribbled and the paper curled at its ends, in a damaged spiral notebook. That is how long I held my breath. Fall with your back to me, grabbing at the covers, taking them back to where a new surface is revealed. It is a crowd of falling things, the things that become of falling debris. Your hair falls over your shoulder as you turn back and let a glance fall on me. Now I breathe, falling in love with you.

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