To: An Inconstant One
Ask me something, anything.
I make my own mistakes, don't care how long it takes.
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So one last touch, and then we’ll go. And we’ll pretend that it meant something so much more. But it was vile, and it was cheap.
And you are beautiful, but you don’t mean a thing to me.
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1/28/12 — 7:52pm
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