i can make you cry and then laugh through your tears with
a few strummed chords played with shaky hands while my shaky voice
grasps for forgotten words between my own sighs of desperation.
you are learning what kind of guts it will take to win this war.

you can make me tremble and forget where i am and the way my
hands should press the strings against the steel (or even that i am
supposed to breathe) with just a laugh cutting through your tears.
i am learning what matters most and that is to be right there.

then what. then we are on the train and the man across the
aisle stands up and turns toward us in his 'i only drink on
days that end in y' t-shirt, comes over and cuddles up close with me

spilling the lukewarm spiced liquor from his clear cup onto my thigh
and says 'sorry,' sounding like my father always sounded, 'but i was
watching what you two have and had to come to tell you to keep it.'

Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien

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