Line

It’s one of those weird sunny days.

A grumpy morning, some pointless scrolling, no coffee and no keys.

We go, the sun is cooler, and she doesn’t need suncream.

He’s okay, but the balcony is far, I can’t see his bruises.

The doctor smiles and says how beautiful we are. I hate myself but she’s more than gorgeous, just like you.

Then we queue. Just bought a pen. More papers. Screams. They go in front of us. Who cares about the line?

Feel lazy to work, to talk, to host a dinner. Can’t even rhyme.

He says the Sky is nice but what I’m thinking is what we are waiting and why this line of life!

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