Leaning from my Grandma’s car,
biro to a headshot that I had grown to hate,
I let my fingers follow the same path they have learned so well,
preparing for twenty three years,
but never quite being sure I had nailed it.
The way you stared was like a sweet kiss to my soul,
innocent and adoring,
with no motive or malice,
just a little bridge,
built from a dream you helped me live,
and turning pages,
that we wrote together.
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