Will you be my love? Will you stay with me? Among the fields of barley? And you can tell the sun, in his jealous sky, when we walked in fields of gold.
I'm attempting to think back. Nothing, Nothing. It must be here somewhere. The memory. I've misplaced it. And the high modality of my sentence structure must give you a sense of its urgency. I may be lying. It's really not all that urgent. It's just leaving a heavy cloud over days. And I'd prefer some sunshine before my skin turns a sallow shade, and I become paler than I already am.
This sentence structure. It's. Quite erratic. Truncated almost. Elliptical. You know, I lined up two images. One that I held in my hand, and one that was held securely by my desktop screen. In those photos, we have aged dramatically. I was taller. Your face was more squashy. You smiled steadily and knew your place. I dreamt of becoming a famous musician and living in a trailer.
I'm trying to remember a day where I knew exactly what was going on in your head. When I fully understood you. A day where we ran from everything, and talked of nothing but kings and gold. I can't think of one. I want to say that you know me well, but it'd be lying.
I've written on the fogged windows of the bus to you. There are songs, and there are empty spaces. Mathematics General lapses into daydreams.
<3
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