we are forms in socks
sliding on the floor
dreaming of flying
not quite ready to leave the ground.
I will never be quite
sure of myself, but I
want you to believe in
yourself when I tell you sweet nothings.
anything I've ever tried to say
was destined to end up in the wind
just hoping that it landed and
hit the mark before it went on its way.
I hope we'll follow suit.
I hope we'll find our way
sooner than later
before too long
becomes never.
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