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I loved you too much. I loved you just how a moth is drawn to a flame. Even if it kills me. Even when it burns. Then you only blew the light out.

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Maturity comes at a cost: losing you, finding me.

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I hope someone will love me as much as I loved you.

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Just how paper craves ink, so does my tongue crave poetry.

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SPOTLIGHT: Wiping the Moral Scum, Clean

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