Poem — Avenida Brasil · Google Drive Avenida hums beneath neon palms, a ribbon of rain-slick pavement and shouted vendors — I open a folder in the dark and find us: photographs folded like paper boats, recipes tagged with your crooked handwriting, a map of a city we no longer share. Files sync, the little green check like a promise; distance reduced to bytes and the pulse of a skyline. I press play. A samba spills through my headphones. On Avenida Brasil, memory downloads slowly, and I carry your laughter in a cached corner of my chest.
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