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Too damn easy.
Even my handwriting seems beautiful today.
Words curl across the page
then back to start at the left margin.
Knuckles digging into my face as it rests
above my hand, above the left page.
Tightness down my forearm, through my fingers.
I ignore it.
Winking and squinting,
I can barely make out the lines across the paper.
It's been so long since the words came this easily.
Now I lie on my dorm-room bed
instead of curling up in a high school library.
It feels the same.
Exhaustion lies in wait,
I push it off,
too enamored with the ways of words.
I feel warm all over,
comfortable in the dry heat.
This I've waiting two years to feel again.
This I had almost forgotten.
More than anything, this place, this feeling