until her quiet settles in [excerpts from a book i’ll never write – seventeen].

you give her half-love and speak in half-truths, never fully showing your hand.

you know this means that you will lose her, to the magic and moonlight, because she is a sweet summer breeze, that first sip of whiskey, warming up your insides and setting your cheeks on fire, the lullaby of a violin in a dark country bar.

she moves too much, is moved too much, but that’s her appeal – because she is a surprise party on-the-go, with eyes that light the night sky and lips that are just for you.

but you hold back – and it stills her.

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