Blossom Betty Fox Resting in the soils of time where your hand was in mine, I now leave you behind in the confines of the space where we once coexisted. Sun, soil and seed; dig me up and dispose of me. Though if there is ever a place where your face graces mine and your rays intertwine one last time, I will not object. I will not release the suppressed bitterness and regret. Instead, I propose a new love, flourishing under your nourishing radiation, though I have not seen the sun for so long; and I long for warmth. And so it is begun. Lacklustre growth, endless yearning, a harmonious irony between longing and changing. I adapted to you and your flickering unreliability. You are not solar but synthetic
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