in my mind i’ve been the girl who writes about boys she can’t have and boys that leave too soon: what would i do if i couldn’t write about the wind whistling through thin clothing at dark hours and the way streetlights get distorted in a rippling lake? i have no idea.


i guess some part of me hopes that one day you’ll swing by to pick me up, only a couple of years and too many heartbreaks too late. maybe you’ll apologize and ask “hey have you been waiting long?” and i’ll just smile and tell you that you have no idea.


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