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March 6, 2014

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I hate that you're not mine.

And I have no right.

I know that.

I don't know everything about you,

and you don't know anything about me.

Not really, at least.

But sometimes you look at me;

You get this glint to your eyes,

you smile that stupid cheese-y smile.

I can't stand looking at it, but I can't stop.

And I can't help but wish...

But it's impossible. For at least three more months.

So I'll see you around.

Tuesday, Thursday, Friday.

Probably Saturday.

Hopefully Sunday.



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