Isn't it amazing how i always have something to say, every single day?
I rant, rave, and write stuff that you're not really reading.
I don't feel like talking.
I miss the tranquility of silence.
I miss the faces of lovers i see when i close my eyes, the scent of the familiar, a touch that you're expecting to not expect.
Parts of your body you mistake for his, and parts of his that you mistake for yours.
between the lines.
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