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The day I thought I'd bow my head was the day I paced across the bridge beneath were cars stuck in between some past and future destination Beguiled in our innocence by illusions of displacement we seek out places we pretend are far from burdens of commitment or the charge of family obligation and so the road becomes a conduit which we tread with sandaled feet on an alluring pilgrimage to break the line of sight between our actions and their consequences In equal quantities I saw the headlight white and braking red and since you never asked about the bridge I'm telling you now, I'm over it.
5:39 AM
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