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If you could see what I see
How wonderful you really are. Your quirks, your eccentricities. Your smile. The way you smell. I'm happy to know you. Your bad luck and your "aura". Something about you. Each part of you seems to tell a story. I can't seem to place it. You have this ghost about you like you're some kind of conduit for the flow of lives lived only in one.
You're exposed red brick walls. You're gritty streets and unhinged laughter in a shady bar. You're a rough hand that has the gnosis of being gentle. You're that feeling of just letting it go and falling off the face of the planet. You're the stroke of a brush, you're the masterpiece no one knows, you're the obscure name that accidentally became a secret between close friends. You're dancing lines with fingerless gloves and absurd imagery. You're the innocence clawing at the sides, an amplification of real beauty.
You're undefinable.
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No Gods. No Kings.
Not all beliefs and ideas are equal.
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