| *loolaville _poetry | |||||
| Four Questions It's a dream. It must be. I am sitting in a handicapped hotel room with the rain drizzling down the window pane. I can look at you without closing my eyes and trying to remember what you looked like. Can I just ask two questions? Sure, what else is there to do. Do you still love me? Oh yes. Do you still want to marry me? I don't know. It's for real. It must be. I am breathing in a handicapped hotel room with the rain drizzling down the window pane. I can't look at you without closing my eyes and trying to hide the pain. Can I just ask two more questions? Sure, what else is there to do. Why? I don't know. When did this change? I don't know It's a dream. It must be. |
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