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Mar 2016
Is it too cliché to say I feel as though I have been waiting for you for my entire life?
I’m going sustain that objection and say yes, yes it is too cliché
The jury is out,
using one cliché is not enough, a picture is worth a thousand words, and that does not accurately paint the picture of how it feels to finally find my way home.

You, have always been the apple of my eye
They say time heals all wounds, but being with you for just a moment heals them enough- its true, an apple a day keeps the doctor away
I have a clean bill of health, but not a penny to my name
Luckily, you have a heart of gold, I’ll follow the rainbow through the storm
In fact, you were the eye of the storm, my silver lining
I want my place in the sun.
We can take the world by storm, throw caution to the wind and let love fly
The butterflies that fill my stomach are tugging at my heartstrings
As far as insects go, to lay with you is to be as snug as a bug in a rug
You keep me warm, please, don’t get cold feet
After all, it isn’t a sprint, it’s a marathon, put your best foot forward and I’ll put my dancing shoes on- it takes two to tango
your voice is my favorite song
You sing like a bird, I’m all ears has cat got your tongue?
If curiosity killed the cat, well baby I’m dressed to ****, I’ll drink the kool aid
My cup is half full, I won’t cry over spilled milk, instead, lets get our feet wet

I’ve come clean, aired my ***** laundry, and yet you didn’t hang me out to dry
The past few years have been like watching water boil, like waiting for ink to dry
Good things come to those who wait, and I’ve been waiting long enough. So when opportunity knocks I’ll answer

Better late than never-welcome to the club.

I hate that you already have to be on the road again, but leaving is only a bump in the road
Now step on it, turn back around, time has slowed down
Cause if absence makes the heart grow fonder, well the hands on my clock seem to be moving slower, or maybe I just have too much time on my hands
By now, I know you like the back of my hand
So if idle hands are the devil’s workshop, won’t you take mine to hold?
Leigh Marie
Written by
Leigh Marie  Boston, MA
(Boston, MA)   
406
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