And he told me that seagulls thrive in the summer months but wither away in the winter ones — and that maybe that’s why I find myself over-analyzing and nit-picking on black nights with cracked-open windows letting cold breezes prickle my skin — because I am a babybird who usually ends up flying away from any type of cold weather (or conflict) I’m faced with.

I told him I didn’t think the seagulls are the only ones — but he was too busy soaking up my melodrama as sadness for the night to notice his own decay.


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