Hey, you. You can’t keep coming back like this. I found a boy who would cook french toast with caramel apple filling for me, who would go to the streets to make a stand with me, who would hold my hand through these grimy pavements that you’ll never ever walk on, that you didn’t want to walk on, that you didn’t choose to walk on, that you would never choose to walk on.
He says he likes taking care of me. Can you imagine?
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