Your face imperfect, it's shine unmatched,
Too far to touch, yet I'm still attached.
Your voice too quiet, blocked by the sky,
Yet millions of miles speak louder
Than you ever would with I.
If I look up,
Past the burnt orange lights,
Past the morning and the afternoon,
If I wait long enough,
I know I'll see you soon.
And although at times you let yourself,
Be taken by the silver ghost.
And although I can see your outline
Behind the blocks of broken obscurity,
The doubt remains.
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