Wednesday, November 16, 2011



I wanted to be as light as a sheet of paper that you could write all your words on.
You could scratch at me with your pen and etch your love into me over and over.
You could fold me up and slip me in your pocket. 
Carry me around with you until me edges were frayed and my creases were shiny and gray
From reading me so many times.
I wanted to be worn by you. 
Like a child's favorite teddy bear with a missing eye, an ear that's been sewn on more than 10 times. 
Loved so intensely I became dirty, soft and broken in.
I wanted to be your favorite shirt.
Threadbare and falling apart.
Washed and worn until it's so thin it's more of an idea than a shirt.
I wanted to be the breath that inhabited your lungs, 
Even if for only a moment. 
I wanted to be that unnoticed and that necessary. 

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