Tori (__tedious) wrote in excuse_me___,
Tori
__tedious
excuse_me___

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Passion is the feeling that I'm not getting. This emotion within lines, and angel wings. You're no drug, you're no lover, you're nothing great overall. Passion isn't here right now, the woman's taken a rain check for about ten years. Oh well, I'll settle for less than the best and pray for the worst to be done with it. Wash my hands of your heartblood, and your pretty eyes (honestly, I still don't know what color they are, but I'm sure they're heart-stopping.)
    Our love is at a redlight, and your apathy is feeding me. Winona Pkwy is beautiful, you just have to look harder. You just have to see past your astigmatism, and feel the way the road curves downward. I swear, this isn't ever it. No, this beauty is eluding me. I've come to a conclusion that we probably have the same problem, but it took different ways to get to us. I've come to the conclusion that I'm dead in the water, but I'm most likely crazy about you. Unfortunately: mon cherrie, j'adore.
    If you ever end up being manic depressive, or wanting to kill yourself, I'll never speak to you again. Got it?
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