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Cold Fingers.
Category: Writing and Poetry
Tonight my fingers are cold, the window closed but the air-vents are open on the seventh floor. All but one finger freezes, the one I have a paper cut on. The one you lent me a band-aid to cover. The one you pretended to be worried with me about. The one that reminds me of you every single time I glance down at it. I sit now at my desk, hoping to have graced your thoughts at least once, whils... » Continue Reading