He's reading it
the book I haven't written yet
he takes it off the shelf I'm building
and wipes it clean
he turns the pages
everyday,
he's reading my heart
& folding my corners
he's cracking my binding
and writing notes in the margins
he's making himself comfortable
In the story I'm living
he's here to stay
he tells me everyday
he's my somebody
wild flowers, rainy days & ramblings to the world
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