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I hope this finds its way to you. You – like me; one of insatiable curiosity and desire for self growth. Perhaps, with an old soul – a term people used to picket fence line between your maturity – your trauma or experience accelerated maturity – and them. And yet, a dreamer. A speaker of silvered words, perhaps a writer… If not almost certainly one. Imaginative and passionate.
Will our words dance? Many more than what we say. Filling more. And feeling more. Closer. Familiar. And yet strange. As my story is not yours, and yours is not mine… Yet. Perhaps, we yet may intertwine our fates. As friends or something more.
If nothing else… A muse for me to write poetry about. And celebrate my highs, and nurture me within my lows. And please, an ambitious and eloquent conversationalist.
I must admit my affairs are not in order that I would desire them to be, with promises I cannot yet make – however if you were: to take a chance on me and grow with me.
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