He sat there, reading a book
Just reading his book Back to the open doorway Story lines bathed in rays Of natural sunlight. I can't see his face, I can never see his face, But if he'd only turn around I know he'd see mine Peering down from the balcony Of my own life, Dreaming up the color of his Eyes, how they must be kind And a little bit wise Just like mine, Exactly like mine - Lost in this land of visions Reaching for reality Grasping at possibilities That flash in the periphery Imagining, mind playing make believe He's lost in his book I'm lost in a daydream.
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AuthorChicago-born citizen of the globe, rich in the things that really matter. Let's get weird. Categories
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January 2019
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