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Swirls of Cold 

This is the post excerpt.

This is going to be the last storm. The last one. 

March is such a crazy month. I get insane, impulsive risky thoughts all month long. I want to run away, become a reclusive mountain woman and knit all day. And nap. And sleep. And read books. 

  This month is about finding the truth. Or at least beginning the journey. 

Momma 

Maybe I think of these years

As the in- between 

Waiting for the end 

When we’re together all the time 

But let’s not rush that awful climax 

I steal deep glances

And memorize lines, crow’s marks

Is that a liver spot on your hand?? 

And I wonder why I feel so funny 

Around you- is that guilt? 

Relax, I remind my anxiety 

And now I’m wound and can’t sleep 

Is she comfortable? 

I should go to sleep 

And make the most of tomorrow