I can read this, but how does one make itself know?
Do I step out of the woods into a clearing.
Do I explain the history that has shaped me for better and worse.
Do I describe to your my desires, my dreams, my fears.
Do I give you my name, my location, my position, my pulse.
no, I leave you this message tacked on this old oak tree as a lady bug gingerly walks accross it. Tell me, is that you?
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