He came again, messing my thought and bring back the memories.
Memories I’ve been trying to let go.
Whenever he came around, an old sentence pop up:
He loves me, he loves me not.
He keeps on making my heart in disguise,
Tell him, tell him not.
And it’s been 16 years.
I grew some fat, he grew grey hairs,
But we are still teenagers in love.
Damn.
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