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It's summer time in Charleston. I wear the heat like a scar, like a blanket. And I left pieces of me under fingernails, bar-stools, and behind your teeth. Oh, I can't tell you. I can't tell you why I miss you. I can't tell you. And yes I can put myself in your shoes, but I'm still the one they're attached to. I didn't use the ticket that you sent me. It didn't feel right, my boots were too heavy.
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