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i want the scritch-scratch of pencil on paper.

i want it now. i want it all the time.

i want the thin lines by my own hand

twisting into a flower, a bird, a face;

your face

 

i want music.

i want plucked strings beneath calloused fingers.

i want freedom to sing as i want

when i want

i want to sing now

i want to sing now, with intermingling voices of someone i love.

your voice beside mine

 

i want coffee in the morning.

perfume freshness and warm, clean steam.

i want the flowers on our kitchen table

and click-clack dog feet on the wood.

i want to share this with you.

 

i want bird-song in our ears.

i want warm hillsides.

i want the breeze in our hair.

 

i haven't met you yet, but i want these things with you.

Edited by thepensword
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