Pall clothes cover our dying hearts, memories forged into notebooks remind us of the mistakes we’ve made. But I’m not yet looking back. This isn’t the end. If ever there is a time you could swear things would be the same take me there so I can smile again. You were my structure, half cracked and insecure, the thoughts that keep me up at night. You’re no longer here when all I want is comfort, a warm shoulder to cry on. Kidding myself that this isn’t the end, I don’t want to let this die. One day I’ll wake up with your back by my side.

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