I always get myself
into this mess. I find someone who tells me I am beautiful. I believe it like a nihilist believes in god. I never jump thinking that someone will catch me. I always carry wings on the way down. I’m a cold hearted cynic and love won’t be the death of me. Except. He tells me that he likes the way that I look and somehow I think he just might. He holds me like a child holds hope in his heart and in his hands, cupped at the fountain. And somehow, and I can’t understand why, He cares for me like my mother never did and my father only attempted to try.
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