I love how you used to make us do cool things, like Fancy Day. I love how you spoon me when I'm asleep. I love how you make me feel like I'm too tall. I love the way joy seems to cling to you, even when you're sad, like the opposite of a cartoon dark cloud over your head. I love your Harry Potter Obsession. (Watch, it'll be gone by now, and I'll be proved behind the times once again.) I love how you make me feel loved.
I love your madness. I love your hair. I love your Metal obsession. I love the scar on my fingertip from Chem, because it makes me think of you. I love how you actually came up to visit me at the Farm, like I'm worth it, or something.
I love how you always take a joke one step too far, just a hair past funny. I love how you let me know you're sad. I love how you always show up when I'm having a kickass dream. I love how you were there for my mom and I when we needed help moving. I love making fun of you for being Latvian. I love how you always make life more complicated than it really is. I love you for showing me the joy of hitting boys with sticks.
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I love how you spoon me when I'm asleep.
I love how you make me feel like I'm too tall.
I love the way joy seems to cling to you, even when you're sad, like the opposite of a cartoon dark cloud over your head.
I love your Harry Potter Obsession. (Watch, it'll be gone by now, and I'll be proved behind the times once again.)
I love how you make me feel loved.
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I love your inner rage.
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And I know I have been a bad friend-person. So terrible. D:
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I love your hair.
I love your Metal obsession.
I love the scar on my fingertip from Chem, because it makes me think of you.
I love how you actually came up to visit me at the Farm, like I'm worth it, or something.
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I love how you let me know you're sad.
I love how you always show up when I'm having a kickass dream.
I love how you were there for my mom and I when we needed help moving.
I love making fun of you for being Latvian.
I love how you always make life more complicated than it really is.
I love you for showing me the joy of hitting boys with sticks.
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I love the way you dance, all chaotic and uncaring, like movement for movement's sake.
I love the way you smell.
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