Sometimes I'd wake in the nest of your arms...like a train wreck of intentions, with pillows on the tracks...I didn't know yet that sandalwood would make me lose my breath...but too late came early, didn't it now...and I'm too far down the queue.
When I am old, looking in the mirror at the semi-recognizable face of my youth, I want to look into the face of a woman who saw the world and appreciated many cultures, who pursued life-long education, who gave more than she took, and who changed at least one life to be immeasurably better. I want to smile as I whisper, “Good job, Bran.”
I like the feel of people in t-shirts when I hug them. There’s something so -nice- about pressing your face against someone’s warm t-shirt. No one can have bad feelings towards you if they let you touch your cheek to their self-warmed cotton.
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