*i will remember this awful, two t-shirt summer, for some time. the sunlight too bright, me walking through the hours like a skeleton, trying to blunt the nerve endings to the point that i wouldn't give a shit what she did with her time, hands, eyes, smile, laughter, or wit
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two-t-shirt summers. well put.
fuck, i fucking miss you, you fucking fuck.
the bad dreams are awful. for me the dreams about the good times are far worse.
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then i see Rory.
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i have seen it in his eyes. he just loves.
the september day he picked me in West Yorkshire was one of my luckier days.
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