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Nothing grows here

Nothing grows here
I made good music to love from these strings on this violin, and it felt good too. I now play alone,  a solo act isn't sad,  like the wind whistles it's truths to the trees,  I play for my soul. To feel at ease with this slow music,  that at some point I honestly know felt really familiar. How she'd braid her hair,  style the longest one so she'd feel a little more cute,  or how she'd wake up each morning half asleep and drowsy, made me smile, her voice drunk on last night's sins, reminisce on the thoughts and they were good. She made me feel soft inside when the words she let slip out of her mouth say she loved me, or so I'd imagined. I think the other guys thought that too. 
To be honest, not everything she said was true,  and who am I to believe any different, if I am to taste the salt at this end of the pool, I'd be foolish to believe that the rest of these waters would have given me a taste that was new.  She'd speak with the ease of river win…

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