Today, more than before, I feel like writing you into my life.
You blush when I reach for your pretty face. Words, fragments of program code compiled into long sequences of ones and zeros and interpreted by scores of feverish machines in far away data centers: how does the heartless certainty of machine logic reflect the hopeful flutter of human emotions on your face as I pull you in for a kiss? Will the next few words write a kiss consummated or a shy demurral?
In my words, there are only you and I.
In my words, all dreams are about you.
In my words, I give up everything
for the world inside of me.
And yet,
in my words, is love unrequited.
Perhaps,
my words, they can't say enough.
You blush when I reach for your pretty face. Words, fragments of program code compiled into long sequences of ones and zeros and interpreted by scores of feverish machines in far away data centers: how does the heartless certainty of machine logic reflect the hopeful flutter of human emotions on your face as I pull you in for a kiss? Will the next few words write a kiss consummated or a shy demurral?
In my words, there are only you and I.
In my words, all dreams are about you.
In my words, I give up everything
for the world inside of me.
And yet,
in my words, is love unrequited.
Perhaps,
my words, they can't say enough.
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