Too late, you may think, and I agree. We’re a mess, we’re a tragedy, a drama, a big fight, a dark day… But sometimes I miss the storm. Suddenly, it’s Friday and I’m growing a scar the place you used to live...
We fight as much as we fuck, and I never know what’s wrong. And they’re telling me how you are wrong here and there, and you’re not that beautiful, and how you look ugly biting your nails and the whole world is much prettier than you, but I don’t see it… I don’t see it at all.
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