I give it two weeks.
You're going to gather up all the right words to say to me.
All the right words to make it make sense in your head.
All the right words to make it sound like you care about it.
But the truth is, you don't.
Your inability to fucking see that things aren't perfect became aware to me.
You're no
Artist.
Musician.
Genius Visionary.
Viking Warrior.
You're a sad soul who will never be able to find happiness in anything you do.
You want to open your eyes, but your pride gets in the way.
The day you rejected my imperfections is the day you lost happiness.
I was the key to saving you, and you threw me away like some whore.
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