We write because we are happy
Because we are sad
Because people my have laughed at us over the life they thought we should have had
Because all our sensory nerve endings are to the soul. Green is the color of not having, blue the color of out heart we're told.
We write because pain is our school master and every word balks at the disaster of not being heard, heart felt. A life relived again and again.
If we were paintings we'd walk to you
If we were poems we'd do whatever we had to do to bring you closer and closer and closer still. The softness of you.
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