That moment before the night turns to morning

That moment before the night turns to morning. Wind on my face. This city is ours. Steady hand. Perfectly reminiscent of something so long ago. And it smells of smoke. visions of cedar embers dance in the mind. Elation. Face sore from smiling. It won’t last and we won’t care. Because, for this moment, there is nowhere else we’d rather be.

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