[Poem about tonight]

1 Aug

It’s warm and humid, on a night stroll, when the often cloudless sky is filled with clouds that look powerful, that show pockets of possible storms against the aging sun, when, you think, it’s a beautiful night, and you wish these nights happen more often, when, you hear the squeal of the tires, and turn to watch two cars hit with a powerful force echoing, those moments that wake everyone from their usual living slumbers, alive, we are, while the clouds above watch forcefully, for once, and the street light turns from green to red to back again. It was a beautiful night.

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