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Hello?
Can you hear me?
I’m here,
peeking out
from behind the pages of
that book you’re reading
(which I co-authored,
by the way).
You can’t see me,
but you know I’m here.
I see it in your eyes.
Little glimpses
beyond,
as they say in that story
about the boy who collects
memories.
You don’t always recognize me,
even thought I’m all around you.
I’m in a light breeze,
the gentle summer heat,
the trill of birds.
I’m between the lines
of those stories you love.
I seep from every brushstroke
and structure wise arguments.
Pieces of me surround you,
walking and living
and moving and breathing.
–There!
Did you see it?
The wonder?
It’s all right
if you missed it.
You don’t have
the right kind of eyes
… yet.
Now that I’ve got your attention,
I have a confession to make:
I want more.
Glimpses aren’t enough;
I want everything.
I want you to lean into me
until you feel my breathing
as your own.
We don’t need touch
to be intimate,
we just need time.
You don’t think
you can make that happen,
but you forget:
I’m the one who wants it.
I’ll make it happen.
I’ll give you new eyes.
You just have to be willing.
You just have to let me.
So?
Are you?
(Willing, I mean.)
If not, it’s okay.
I’ll be here.
