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i want to take your clothes and hang them in my closet
and pretend that you live here
and imagine that you are simply in the shower, or in another room, working on an essay
or a brand new song.

i'll want to ask you what you are writing about,
if you are having an argument with yourself
or is it with someone else?

i'll want to ask you if it's a love song
or are you angry at something,
but i know not to disturb you, in the next room over,
building up the calluses on your gentle finger tips.