on a cold afternoon somewhere in your youth
seated on the couch with miles in between
she's lifeless as the bare trees outside
having cried the salt out of her tears
she's wearing the sweater you gave her
in a baffling manner of statement
the aroma of her house always seemed foreign
yet that never stopped you from charging in
if you love me this, if you love me that
why can't she just be happy?
finally she breathes out a sigh and turns away
and it gets just a tad chillier in here
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