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I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.
If there is something
we all have in common,
it is that we are in love
with the stars.
We strive to reach them,
wish to be them,
and love to admire them.
When we find out that many
of the stars we are seeing,
are actually no longer there,
we refuse to believe it.
Like a widow with her
long-lost husband,
we imagine them alive
and well.
We project our ideals
and base our goals
off of these beautiful,
beautiful corpses
that we call stars.
You've got this lovely, lyrical way of talking
Your eyes are empty, your hair is a mess.
You bury yourself in books
You stay out dancing all night.
You talk about things like jellyfish with tentacles larger than train carriages
You run through the streets, screaming at the sky.
You're crazy, just a little bit
But,
you're mine.
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