I would like to talk to you, and ask how you are. I cannot bump into you, you live just too far. So a phone call unanswered, or a text message ignored. Is all I can give you, and that idea is flawed. And such simple things become so hard to say. To ask how you are, seems to be so not okay. Or to ask what you've been doing, in the most honest of terms. It would seem I cannot voice any of these concerns. So I'm writing a stupid poem, in hopes one day you'll ask me. And I can show you that I was thinking about you, most honestly.
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Still my fondest memory and my greatest desire.
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I really wish Louis CK was my dad.
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Them: Why do you even care who runs the country?
Me:
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“Queue” is just “Q” followed by 4 silent letters.
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