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If he donât mean it, he wonât say it, and I can tell. If I donât mean it, I canât say it, and his face fell.
But itâs so seldom I believe it â it takes a clear kind of day. Like air so cold it hurts to breathe it. (And the colour comes to my face.) And I donât tell my mother, I donât tell my sister, something so tender Iâd rather not speak it, even when I know it â that heâs mine.
Woke up thirsty, beset by memory, coming in swells. And dreams stay with me, long into morning, strange wells. Iâve been free, but Iâve known not freedom; like a kite. It was a glimpse but I did see him; at full height. And what is left unspoken, is free, in the coming and the going, my heart knew only motion. And I donât even know him â but heâs mine.