You're in a folder marked Forever & Ever. You're written on pages that smell of secondary school, taste of tears. Written on the underneath of built-in desks, on the walls of rooms, on the front and the back of notebooks,
written on skin.
Sometimes it feels like we've gotten a move on with the rest of our lives, and honestly,
for the most part anyways,
it's quite scary.
But then I pull out sheets of lined paper, dreamt-up nonsense handwritten on it.
And I realize,
at the end of the day,
there's always going to be you guys.
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