On that last day, somewhere ahead, inside an unseasonably warm winter night, he’ll say my name and leave a hole no one can fill – something to hold onto when my hands are full.

Rebecca Tsaros Dickson

Tag: first-love last-breath

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That’s what happens with your first love. It carves a hole in the muscle and fiber, so that you have no choice but to wear it like a birthmark.

Rebecca Tsaros Dickson

Tag: first-love

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