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Dec 2014
I don't remember how you fingers felt through my hair on sunday mornings
I don't remember the colour of your skin against the bloodied tiles
I don't remember the dilation of your eyes as you confessed your love for me for the first time
I don't remember the way your eyes twinkled as you laughed
I don't remember you being happy
I don't remember being happy
I don't remember us the way we were supposed to be
bm
Written by
bm  merely drifting through
(merely drifting through)   
550
   Juneau
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