You are my blue crayon the one I never have enough of the one I use to color my sky
What is the color of heaven?
And I'd choose you in a hundred lifetimes in a hundred worlds in any version of reality I'd find you and I'd choose you
Trust is like a paper once it's crumpled it can't be perfect again you can flatten the paper and try and make it as straight as you want but it will never be perfect again
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