Talk of how our children will have your nose, and whispers of "we'll grow old together" quietly creep into secret hollows we shaped into promises and left carelessly on the edge of a table, so the children of others could knock them down, so we could stand with sadness in our eyes, and stare at the fragments of what we had hoped for.
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2 comments:
sometimes you make me incredibly sad.
Don't be. You're not the emo one, I am.
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