IQ

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It's hard for me to see in you when I'm not sure if I believe in you.
It's hard for me to believe that I'll believe when all I know is this.
Limited by this imagination, where I've dreamt you up, and sketched you out a thousand times.
Only to find that you're apart of nothing but my imagination.
Now I imagine what it's like to imagine,
because none of my imaginations come true.
Real life is much like my mind's life.
Made up, seemingly, but still an imagination of an imagination.

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