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she was like watercolor.   no.   She was watercolor.   her bright red smile would slip through my fingers just as it came,
  76 MPH down I-85. The tires rolling underneath make me think of a galloping horse. For five hours, I watch the scenery change Towering city to Abandoned town to Blazing tree tops.
Yield not sincere vulnerability Like the thorns on a rose doth separate Underneath lies thine past adversity Still the petals will fall for ‘tis their fate And expose the beautiful irony,
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