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  • Grace Cockerill

Not a real place.

When I hide under the sheets at night

I imagine us running away together, to not a real place.

I imagine big. much bigger than I.

The place looks hazy and I lose all my edges.

I fit right in and i can run for miles.

The trees are so lush and the air feels so warm.

The hair on the back of your neck stands up.

I can hear the cicadas in the breeze.

The stream is so gentle on our toes, but

your feet begin to look cold and your

belly begins to rumble.


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