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The coffee will never be as sweet as you did it… your scent will never again linger in my tiny room. It will always be the tobacco you spilled on my sheets. Every time you tucked into my bed, every time you kissed me good night, every time you touched … every movement of your body turned to stone.

I will. I will remember. The walls can’t speak. But they do know, they do feel.
But the windows were never opened. Nobody heard, nobody knows, nobody saw.
It will kill me if you step again into my room. It will kill me, if I see you on the streets.

The smoke of your cigarettes is printed in my skin. I will always be stuck on you.
©2007-2009 ~ChOcOLaDyBuG
:iconchocoladybug:

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November 6, 2007
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