Direction: Butterflies in My Stomach



I promise I try. I promise I give, and naively use magnifying glasses to look for the good, like Battleship game map searches. I  X  out general flaws because I want to be right.

Pure in spirit, a heart pinker than flamingo feathers—a cotton candy melted by pleasant tones and gestures. Moments that remind

That eyes bear: pregnant with tears.

Caterpillars have camped out a month of Sundays in my stomach as I know my potential,

but i get nervous.

Six-prong fork with me at the center



diagonal left,

south, diagonal right, and south east.

But you know, with certainty, I attest the Butterflies will at best carry me towards… where I will be Blessed. 



Two Cents, anyone?

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