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I remember, by Britta Benson

I remember

I remember the late summer sun rising

the day she died. Mum was patiently

waiting for worlds to wake up before

calling it quits. She left us under

beautiful, shimmering rays with the

warmest caresses. We ate ice creams

in the garden, flipped and flopped.

She, a glimmer. Above. Always.

Britta Benson


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