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Dear Miss San Francisco please don’t forget me, even though you don’t want the help.
Just don’t put the pill in your mouth and swallow the champagne, don’t listen to those nasty words even though they come out of your mind sometimes. Please try to open up and tell me what really happens. I know it will probably never happen. But what about those lonely mornings playing the piano in that cold entryway? If only those walls could talk. Sorry that it wasn’t what you expected, please let me help. I know that your addiction is too big, why are you a little girl who still wants to rebel? Miss San Francisco has as many problems as the city. Why do you speak a sad song? And please don’t ever leave, like you said, boys like me love you forever, and its nothing but the truth. I love you when I’m alive, and will love you when I’m dead. Just stay and I know you will, it’s like you’re attached to this city, so why can’t it be like that between you and me? Those curls will never leave my mind, just don’t straighten them and be like that 20 inch waist. I don’t want to know about how you starved yourself, or how you cried in front of that mirror. Or how you knew what was happening at night in the city, as if it’s right in front of you. Maybe when we’re old, you’ll move from the mirror to the window and appreciate what was there the whole time. I hope that the night when I actually see you cry and know that you are not some supernatural thing that will never die, to know that somewhere you did have feelings, and that you do love me, because I don’t think that I’ll ever fall for that act. And maybe I’ll have to leave one day, and will you wishes not have come true yet? I don’t know, but maybe I’ll know then. I just know that no matter who I say I love, I can not never get you out of my mind, and like you always say you don’t want to remember those good memories because it hurts too much. I will always know where to find you, and don’t you ever think about that house. It’s that sad memory that you can’t think of because it still hurts, but don’t think about it, or that lonely childhood.
Dear Miss San Francisco, I’ll be there to be the last one to put that sparkly crown on your head.





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