White lace cascades,
string beads of light
fall from a quiet sky.
There’s a soulful eye-gaze—
not quite seen,
but deeply felt—
as if the night itself is watching,
studying the stars,
navigating galaxies of hope
with nothing but longing for a compass.
Turned out.
Opened up.
Like a Christmas present—
torn,
but radiant.
Laughter and freckles
etched into knowing.
The past,
just a sigh in the wind.
The future—not yet arrived.
It is now.
And...
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