I woke up this morning only to be met with the idea that I no longer knew what colour her hair was; how was I suppose to know if she loved me?
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Excerpts From The Book I'll Never Write
PoetrySomething I had to write in order to feel again.
#21
I woke up this morning only to be met with the idea that I no longer knew what colour her hair was; how was I suppose to know if she loved me?
