listen, beloved. it's how i fear they would realize that this is just another matter of the utmost romanticized sadness how i would glorify spitting another hatred
i ache at the places we've been, songs we've heard, skin we've desired. name it baby you have it more in me and less in you, the kind that won't be allowed to.
don't scare me now dear; you had it bloom, you touched it bright, donβt step on it red. i won't call it (again), love. not now