letting him spill sentences of love and truth
but never knowing what it means
realizing we can't learn through words and syllables
and that we'd rather discover with our hands and feet
walking this dirty earth
letting the soles of our feet grow calloused and tough
holding hands as tight as we can
drawing circles on each others palms
learning the dips and cracks we receive along the way
showing the preacher that we weren't made for listening to rules
because we'd rather make our own
so we mark our own path, leaving footprints behind
two sets of them, in sync with one another
in all this dirt and mud and clay of the earth
a constant reminder that we belong here
and that we're in this together
right here
and right now.
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