I wrote this for you, and will write this for me. It will be for us. It is a gift.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
The Cry of the Lonely Lolita
There was a time when I thought I could live without you. Then, I realised, you were there all along, in every dream, every fantasy. You are even in the air I breathe. You are the air in my lungs, and I am hopeless if I think I can be without you.
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