Not about this poem, but about, "When January Moves Through My Sleep," which I saw, sitting on a bus in the very back seat on Thursday, Dec 4, reading it almost sideways, and falling in love.
Not about this poem, but about, "When January Moves Through My Sleep," which I saw, sitting on a bus in the very back seat on Thursday, Dec 4, reading it almost sideways, and falling in love.
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Not about this poem, but about, "When January Moves Through My Sleep," which I saw, sitting on a bus in the very back seat on Thursday, Dec 4, reading it almost sideways, and falling in love.
Not about this poem, but about, "When January Moves Through My Sleep," which I saw, sitting on a bus in the very back seat on Thursday, Dec 4, reading it almost sideways, and falling in love.
This makes me even more upset that my car is fatally broken.
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