first bruise
the sting of first love
Streetlamps flicker, echoing their silence. The chill— not just in the air, but between glances that once burned. Footsteps dissolve into memory's fog, while love learns its first bruise.
PoetryVerse
PoetryVerse
Streetlamps flicker, echoing their silence. The chill— not just in the air, but between glances that once burned. Footsteps dissolve into memory's fog, while love learns its first bruise.
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