I....................you
There isn't words to make up the feeling
it's all tied up in farmers, nationalism, comfortable laps, and banjos
a smell, a taste, an idea ...illusive
I'm glad I could hear you, wether I heard your face as I remembered it or not.
Everything I know of you is like a collectors item.
I spend nights patching you together and just staring
Your pretty
You stare back
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