I want to hear the music hum beneath my fingers, the only thing in this world that's truly black and white. I see that grey skyline in your eyes, but the bright orange gates always seem to swing wide open when I'm in your arms. Are we adding hypocrisy to our list? I can't help the way I am, and you can fix the way you feel, and nothing will be set in stone. It'll melt away like wax instead. Then we can aim for a mutual state of awkward affection and maybe just hope for a century of the best.
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