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inflection

I miss you when the rain falls. Trickling outside of our window as I run my fingers across your back. Why are we so different? Why are you so soft? Listening to the silence I can also hear you breath. We laugh a little because we both know you’re ticklish and I’m not. The rain strengthens and the tickles become long pours of water streaming off the roof of the house. Your skin is warm like the spring day that has just finished. The rain has stopped, but my thoughts continue to wonder: of what you’re doing, what we could be doing, and if we’re really that different after all. Now I lay in the cool of the night dreaming of passion and the French. I dream of us taking walks down the street and observing the things you observe. You are so observant. And probably have already made the observation of me being observative.


written by Caleb Sarvis | @cdsarvis



Photo by Jesse Paciocco | @jessedylann

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