When you were here it was like Thanksgiving
with just the right chill in the air
Like Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone
crossing paths on the frontier
Like grey hair that makes you timeless
instead of just older
When you left here it was like Kurt Cobain
without the rock n’ roll
Like crumpled paper by a writer’s desk
who’s at a loss for words
Like waking up with amnesia
forgetting who you are
Everything.
Except.
A name.
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