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I can’t tell if you’re mad at me or if i’m just being way too sensitive
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let me tell you a secret – sometimes i think this might all be a bad dream. every now and then, when the world is quiet enough, when the yellow light hits the ceiling just right, i feel like a child again. sometimes i wish i could find the spot where time is the weakest, touch it, tear it apart, and wake up on the sofa, behind my parents’ backs where i’ve crawled after some nightmare. from the tv, a laugh track. i’m pretending to sleep. it’s summer. see, the balcony door is ajar. see, there’s a mosquito trying to get in. see, my heart isn’t aching. see?
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I don’t wanna tell you what i wanted because now i feel gross thinking about it
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I’m just lying in bed and it feels like my chest is gonna explode
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