We spent Sunday morning lying in your bed,
comparing and contrasting Dinosaur Jr. and Sebadoh.

You were so warm and I was so cold.

Little bits of glitter had made their way from my eyelids into your hair
like they always do.

I hate that you smoke cigarettes because I want you to stop coughing,
but when you’re not around I still

hold your sweater to my face,
close my eyes,
and breathe in.

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