the thoughts work like writing in the dark, turning on the lights to realize the pen was never on, the words came out invisible. and it's up to you to pin them down again.
you don't know home like i do.
like having a favorite song to which you can always come back when you're tired of new inspiration.
i can dissect the song and learn how it works but i'll never know the why of words that rest inside, coolly aloof.
there are so many things to like; i'll like you and maybe the moon.
two-dimensional comic book windows.
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