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The Lake
I come from the breeze, cool like a crisp fall morning, blowing gently off the water on the lake.
I come from evening boat rides, the sun setting softly over the horizon,
projecting colors like a painting in the sky.
I come from summer nights, catching fireflies in the dark.
I come from the scent of pumpkin pie baking at Grandma’s on Thanksgiving Day.
I come from bike rides down Sawyer Road, with unknown destinations,
as Mom and Dad trail behind me, winding in and out of the trees.
I come from the glistening fireplace as Mom’s homemade hot chocolate brews on the stove.
But then, I come from houses apart, drifted away through anger and despair.
I come from a family of broken promises and written disaster,
with no sign of hope for a happy future together.
I come from the arguing, fighting, and yelling all night long.
I come from a lost trust, blown away like the water on the lake.
I come from feelings set inside like the reds and oranges
setting over the horizon.
I come from that breeze, where these thoughts wear away, and all I know is the lake
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