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While You Were AsleepThe sweetest sight I've ever seen
I watch you lay there peacefully
I want to feel you in my arms
But I sit back and observe you rest
Sometimes I wonder what you're dreaming of
While your back is turned to me
Am I enough? Have I done well?
I often feel I'll never be
You're too sweet, you're too much
You deserve the moon and stars
And I deserve a gentle touch
Your sweet hands across my skin
As I move to lay my head down next to you
I can feel the tenderness of your body
It seeps into my skin and nose
Your heartbeat, gentle and slow
Bo.When Lindsay was born, Bo was there. Standing beside her mother, he was the first thing she ever saw. But he was not her father; her father stood on the other side.
Bo was there until the very moment she died.
The sun shone bright through the windows of her pink-laden room. She loved pink. And black.
“Because Bo is black,” she’d told her parents.
Her imaginary friend, they soon concluded.
“Bo is all black,” she described one night as her father tucked her in, “His skin and his hair and everything. He doesn’t talk a lot.”
Her father frowned.
“He sounds scary.”
“He’s not,” she insisted.
Bo sat on the bed and said nothing.
Her father kissed her good night and turned out the light.
“Why can’t Dad see you?” she asked.
“Are you real?”
“Are you real?” he replied.
“How do you know?”
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