You are better than a dream because you drain in reality. And you sow sunflower seeds into my aching chest to heal what’s deep inside of me. I am miserable in its merest shape of our sacred space. And the height of my reflectiveness is birthed into a shameful light but you ensnare me with a glimpse yet lovely as each starlit night. But in the end portentous words are just free and bound morphemes and the illusions behind virtuousness are equivalent to our hopes and dreams. Where distance feels like poison but affection like a remedy. "I miss you" is so simple in its syntax but complex in reality.
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