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I guess I can't complain, anymore. I guess this is good for now. I remember when we used to mock all of the stereotypical highschoolars who dyed their hair over summer and bought clothes from thrift stores because they thought they were vintage.
I remember we would mock those girls on Twitter who would subtly throw shade toward their ex boyfriends new girlfriend even though they broke up three years ago. I remember how we used to pretend we were married at bars and make up stories about how we went to a Elvis concert in Fiji and everyone believed us in their drunken states.
But now those times are over, kind of. But now you're more lonely. But you only tell me when your half asleep on the couch with the blanket half off your body. And the only thing I can do is stroke your forehead and promise to give you the world...and then the next morning you refuse to talk about it as you drink your cold, bitter coffee.
But I guess I can't complain. You're still with me, and I still want to give you the world even though were wide awake. I know you're drowning and I don't know what to do, but I read your tenth grade diary; you used to write about me a lot. You wrote how you liked when I played with your hair, or the dreams I had the night before. How I always added sugar in your coffee even though you like it tart.
And now I know to play with your hair, telling you my dreams as you drink your sweet coffee.