I always let this happen, and it always happens. Doors swing open and I have to pull them shut again. Words are empty while resonating in the wrong home. Your hearts not meant to be my home, and mines not yours. It's the idea we are both longing for, it's what we keep dreaming about but it's always a dream. Not even tangible, we are both dreaming and pretending. Always, I find myself right here.
I have to find time to fix what's broken.
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