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petrichor  –  archive
  • 70 Degrees

    January 25th, 2024

    The curse lifts,

    As if some proprietor simply forgot or died long ago.

    Some mystery puppeteer that had a chokehold on the strings that coordinated every aspect of life.

    Then suddenly, they’re cut.

    Did you get notice or was it merely a feeling?

    The day I found freedom, it was the breeze that whispered it into my ear.

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