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Philosophical cow dung on the life of little Ms. Imperfectly Fine.

Monday, November 26, 2007

Nothing I can think of

I can beg. I can crawl. I can climb. I can fall. But I cannot make you love me.

I can sing. I can write. I can kiss. I can bite. But I cannot make you love me.

I can cry. I can scream. I can tease. I can dream. But I cannot make you love me.

I can hide. I can chase. I can turn. I can face. But I cannot make you love me.

I can give. I can fake. I can freeze. I can break. But I cannot make you love me.

I can run. I can stay. I can wish. I can pray. But I cannot make you love me.

And there’s nothing I can think of that I can do about that.