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... into you like a porous piece of wood against its dock, I think to myself, I love You. Us fighting about the memory we spilt, Us fighting about the millimeters we spent apart, Us fighting about how I, a wordist, can’t seem to compose the correct ones, And when we fight about the intangible, I think to myself, I love You. When we’ve traveled to our fiftieth state, When we’ve overcome the gray, ...
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Published: 10 months, 2 weeks ago (Sat, 14 Feb 2009 19:21:48 PST); 1891 bytes
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