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Wednesday, February 17

Clichè

I fucked up.
I fucked up again.
Like a moth burning its wings in the same flame that almost killed it the last time.
Like a stupid fly hitting its head against the closed window, again and again.
I tell you I love you in as many ways as I can without saying "I love you"
When all I actually want is wipe you off of my mind
And I now realize the cruelest thing I ever did to myself
was promise to never forget you

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