the butte pt. 2
it was brief; as tragic as the ugly fig,
and the memory of it's former color.
from those moments, we'll derive who we are,
though i'd never really know you.
every so often, i think on the night
when i promised myself i'd be free.
on that butte, with a complete stranger.
even if i never told the full truth about trust,
and being afraid in the darkness,
and feeling lost.
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