this afternoon with you was something like a letter. the kind that someone writes but never sends. and when you look at me like that, i know someday its gonna end. and when you get old, i bet you miss your friends.
these things inside me they repeat like broken records, spinning pretty somethings behind my eyes. and when i cant look at you, i can paint your picture perfectly in my mind. and when i get old, im gonna miss you all the time.
- r.a.
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