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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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![]() I rinse my cold hands on the gentle shores of Punta Fuego, feeling a rush of last summer coming in and ebbing away. I waited till autumn
to scour through the sand for hours, the footprints and handprints we made half-eaten by the ocean the water, waiting for you to unearth yourself, to find nothing but a blistering wind of stargazer lilies the fallow September, blooming late, I would have pinned in your hair thickets of fescues; a gladiolus bound within you. but as I wait for another calyx to blossom in July all I’m left with are the shoes my fingers buried into the ocean in muddles of dirt. so I rinse my cold hands, on the gentle shores of Punta Fuego - now I know, the waves we used to watch until dawn have flooded you clean. Comments are closed.
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September 2023
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