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Island in the Middle of Wyoming
while spring is dragging its feet,
i watch a father teach his son to be a man
it’s not about the rules,
it’s not the technique,
it’s the way his eyes flicker with something
you can’t put your finger on,
but you know it’s there.
just then i realize:
love isn’t something to be claimed,
it’s something you witness
when the moment decides you’re worthy.
and in my head im in Wyoming,
without ever setting foot on its soil.
it’s the softness i’m after,
it pulls at me like a distant song
i can hum along,
but never speak the words.
then im reminded
they say, “No man is an island,”
but i’m not so sure
i say that,
each island is exactly what it is.
close enough to see
but not enough to touch.
Copyright ©
Star InYourCar
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