[maybecowboycore]

I’m no great poet. I can’t write you sonnets to make you blush. I’m not a painter or sculptor. I could never recreate your likeness in all its loveliness. I’m not even that good at guitar. I can’t give you a tune worthy of you. I can’t make anything that will last a million years and keep your goodness alive through forever. I’m not that kind. My loving can’t sustain you. But if you want me to kiss you gently. If you want me to brush your hair behind your ear. Well I’m an old master at that.