at eleven in the morning you roll me over to tell me i've already missed an hour of dawsons creek, joey's acting ridiculously emotional again, and the coffee you've made is awfully cold. at twelve pm we draw the blinds and watch crazy moon and you burn the popcorn but we eat it anyway. at one forty-five my polka-dot dress is already on and you put
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don't delete this journal, i love the way you write.
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