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We weren't that far gone, from where the campfire crackled along. Adrift in indigo afterglow, where fading patterns wove the tree line. The falling stars won't refrain, in summer promises we made. Your face lit softly by the moon, Venus waining early June. In the shadow of that winter, we hoped against hope for golden days before they end. Waking silently in June, our hearts eclipse the moon.
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