April the third has been edited out of my life.
I didn’t spend it anywhere. Leapt from the second
To the forth amidst an endless stream of movies
Snacks and elbows. The day that has not existed
Feels like it might last forever. Only now does
A dawn break the night which this day has not seen.
I wonder, should this day ever be returned to me,
My stolen hours, what I should dedicate it to. Not
Writing. Nor sleeping nor travelling. Nor reflection,
Solitude or literature. With friends, not strangers.
I’ll claim it from a time of purest happiness, some
Future land awaiting my footprint, some state of grace.
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