I know you ask me a lot of questions. And I answer almost all of them happily and honestly. But I could not do the same — perhaps I am afraid of the answers that you might say.
What about the road trip?
What about the prayers in the morning?
What about the cardboard with that good night?
What about seeking clearance?
What about cupcakes with the note?
What about three movies in 24 hours?
What about your car? And the car you wanted?
What about now? Is something wrong?
Maybe it’s just me. And I’ll keep things to myself. Until you figure things out. These things will not mean anything to me.
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