Too fickle, too free. Too uncertain, too me. The things I wish I could change probably aren't the ones I should be thinking of. I'm haunted in the day, by your scent, by my fantasies. We finally got more of what we wanted, and somehow I'm trying to hold it all. I'd apologize if I better understood. I try so hard because I always think I should. What is it in me that drives me to please? I am a dandelion, blowing every which way with the breeze.
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