Only magic can do these things.
Make the downs look up and the ups look higher. Make all logic seem irrelevant. Roll it up so tightly and throw it out into the shade where it will fall asleep until we decide to find it there again, if ever. Take a distance and fold it, twice over and twice again, like a sheet that becomes no bigger than our hands as they meet to match the corners, each to each.
Only magic can make those eyes, and those ears, and those arms, and those legs, and that smile, and the shape your whole face takes with that smile, and those hands held once, and those eyes again, and the color of your skin, and the smell of your hair, and that way that you move, and that way that you laugh, and that way that you must do all of those things that you do that remain a mystery.
Make me this happy. Make me this foolish. Make me hurt this way, and want the hurt. Make me not understand at all and not want to understand at all, and just be in it. Make me write these words and dance this way. Dream the things that I dream this way. Make me wait forever. I will wait forever.
Only you can do these things.
