March 31.
How is it that you've infected me so easily? My thoughts, my dreams.
The walls I've built; I was certain they would keep you at bay until I was ready. And yet with your touch, your breath on the back of my neck, the walls whither and crumble. You walk right into my space unfazed by what you've just done.
You've done this to me, but I don't know what affect I have on you.
Do thoughts of me or us ever linger?
Have I been welcome to roam the vastness of your thoughts?
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