Humid city where my hair never dries and the radio is always right. Where you would not come see me no matter how many times I asked, how many rules I broke. Place from where I sent you photos, day after day, hoping. You replied with your own images, many nearly identical. As if we were of one mind. As if I traveled in your footsteps. As if you followed me. Eventually, we saw the same things, but never at the same time. You always saw them first. Not just in Memphis.
Posted onJanuary 20, 2014
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