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The light that blinds my eyes when I think of ways,
Are the same pays as the reason by none,
Maybe the sun that lights is a form of fright,
Or to hold one’s hand is never the same as to keep you sane.
Love letters from 2009
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The light that blinds my eyes when I think of ways,
Are the same pays as the reason by none,
Maybe the sun that lights is a form of fright,
Or to hold one’s hand is never the same as to keep you sane.
0 Kudos
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