If it was me, blowing through the pen and scratching the paper...
I rather be jealous of the wind for
softness and strength
held together as one
Messing not your hair
but your life as well.
Touching your soul
kissing your skin.
Tracing the tip
of your lashes
while you blink
close and open
your eyes.
Rediscovering
your world.
Letting me in with you.
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