Seems to me.

close yourself upon pressed flowers and marked pages suppose the ropes fell to your knees we never took too much time to drive anywhere but places we've never been. Have the nerves of faith and the breath of treaty if you ever want to fill the heart balloons and see us soar. Satisfied by distortion and quick connections elongated by loose knots. Soaked in the futile days of sewing sadness through the landscape shelves. Stems of an everlasting love rest their heads upon the leaves they birth. Shoot, I'm fucking tired.