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October 16, 2011
Do not fault me for my cynicism,
I know how accidents are confused with fate;
"I" becomes "we".
Compliments convince you the problems are in your head.

I know how accidents are confused with fate:
The city arranges itself for sporadic kisses in discrete corners;
compliments convince you the problems are in your head.
You start to arrange your life based on their schedule

The city arranges itself for sporadic kisses in discrete corners:
everything is the first of it's kind and you feel reciprocated in your boundless energy.
You start to arrange your life around their schedule;
the texts get slower.

Everything is the first of it's kind and you feel reciprocated in your boundless energy.
You begin questioning things without answers;
the texts get slower.
You are ashamed to be so keenly aware.

You begin questioning things without answers
to compensate for their absence you become self aggrandizing
You are ashamed to be so keenly aware
Your ego will either cushion the fall or cripple you

To compensate for her absence you become self aggrandizing
You've stopped looking at pictures
Your ego will either cushion the fall or cripple you
"Are you single?" becomes a complexity rather than small talk

You've stopped looking at pictures
You're saving her number just to say Happy Birthday
"Are you single?" becomes a complexity rather than small talk.
You're making this bigger than it really is

You're saving her number just to say Happy Birthday;
you've concluded her reaction determines the outcome of this romance:
This is how accidents are confused with fate.
You're making this bigger than it really is,
do not fault me for my cynicism.





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