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Perfection MAG
I was sitting on the couch
 right next to you
 with a book in our lap
 You were reading
 so all I had to do was listen
 to your thick viscous voice, 
 surrounding me like a blanket,
 filling every nook and cranny
 so that all that was left of my little world
 was you,
 me,
 and the puny book between us.
 
 The words seemed to roll off your tongue
 like a lullaby.
 You had mastered the art
 of telling stories,
 every word perfection.
 I remember staring at the book,
 willing the last page not to come.
 But even I know
 that the best of things must end eventually.
 
 But there are always
 days like today,
 when I stare at my bookshelf,
 and my hands instinctively guide me
 towards the section of picture books,
 like they did many years ago.
 And as I sit on the floor,
 I read the book silently to myself
 and I imagine
 that I am sitting on the couch
 right next to you
 with a book in our lap
 but with your syrupy voice filling my head
 instead of my own.

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