Can't you see, that I am tired of starting over again?
Tired of starting somewhere new time after time?

I long for the unoriginal.
Give me the old, give me the outdated and the used.
Give me anything but the pristine, for that feeling is more overdone than any of it.
I no longer want the pure. I no longer want what is considered fresh.

You have been a friend of mine, a friend before a lover, a lover while a friend.
You have seen my scratches and my wounds in development.
You witnessed this faulty course of mine, and you watched me spoil in my steps.
I am damaged goods. A consistent imperfection.
And we went through the new-found appeal, the sinful temptation, time and time again.
We opened many books, reaching no further than the first chapter before setting them down again.
Never did we make it to the next part of the story.

The next stage after the original becomes a simple custom. A natural tendency.
I crave this routine. I ache for what I already know. My one true desire.

Because no matter how practiced we may seem,
you never seize to surprise me, and give me something new every day.
You know my weaknesses, my defects among the new models, yet here you stand.

I do not want fresh, no. I do not want brand new. Because you remain flawless, a true classic.
The shiny new toys, the ageless archetypes, none of those compare.

I want to grow along side you. I want to become the paradigm of a lasting survival.
I want to fix the defects so I can mend a new mold, a brand new version. The new to you.
Original, fresh, unmarked and undamaged. A new desire. And something worth your embrace.
To be the supreme prototype in your eyes, never out of date. And never to expire.