What can I use to keep you, Borges, I give you the slender streets, the desperate sunsets, the moon in the wilderness, I give you the sorrow of a man who has long looked at the lonely moon, and I give you my dead ancestors...
I give you all the insight my books can and all the masculinity and humor I can have in my life I give you the loyalty of a man who has never believed in Don't make words, don't deal with dreams, don't be touched by time, joy, and adversity to the core... the memory of a yellow rose seen I give you my interpretation of your life, my theories about yourself, your real and amazing existence I give you my loneliness my darkness my heart's hunger I try to impress you with confusion, danger, failure
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