In full bloom

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You always told me you loved the rain, thundershowers to be exact. The way it seemed to always be throwing itself into everything it has, cold and dark, you told me. just like me, you told me. And I guess maybe when you're in love everything becomes poetic, cause baby, I was the paper, and you're beautiful brain was the ink, but now, as I sit alone in my bedroom at 12:30am, I'm realizing that you did love rain, but only when you had an umbrella.