Tuesday, 26 May 2015

#7 A Secret to My Friend

I will tell you, my friend
His eyes are the only Christmas lights that deserve to be seen all year long
He thinks too much,
misses his father,
hates to laugh,
and he’s terrible at lying
Because his face never figured out how to do it correctly

I will tell you, my friend
He never gives me roses
nor gifts
But he gives me his world

I will tell you, my friend
If my alarm clock sounded like his voice
my snooze button would collect dust

I will tell you my friend
If he came in a bottle
I would drink him until my vision is blurry

I will tell you, my friend
If he was a book
I would read him page-to-page
hoping to find typos
just so we can both have a few things to work on

Because aren’t we all unfinished?
Don’t we all need a little editing?
Aren’t we all waiting to be proofread by someone?
Aren’t we all praying they will tell us that we make sense?

He don’t always make sense
But his imperfections are the things I love about him the most

*sent to me many years ago from a good friend of mine*

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