The moon rises slow, casts its silver glow.
I wonder if you even know
The weight of the silence, the ache in my chest,
The dream of your voice, the warmth I suppress.
I reach for the stars. They’re cold to the touch.
A million miles couldn’t feel this much.
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New Jeanland
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Part community, part creative playground, part ongoing experiment, New Jeanland is a place to make things, learn things, argue about things, and have entirely too many opinions along the way.
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