I could sit down and write forever. Typing away at my keyboard, pen scribbling on loose napkins at a cafe, mental notes as I ride a jerking, bumpy subway. Everyone who read my words would understand. I could convince the world I knew what I was talking about. That I had all of the answers.
But the truth is that when it comes to love, nobody knows what they are talking about.
I am not really good with words. And there is really nothing left to say.
I'll go back to writing nice things when I am in love with the world again.
Because right now,
I don't want you in.
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