Quiet nights, quiet lights, producing overrated things called thoughts, pushing me into complete
amazement of how it's already the thirty-second day of the year. breathe in the good times,
breathe out the smoke, it's all a cycle where finding yourself is a complete impossibility. and
sometimes butterscotch just happens to be your bestfriend.
Cheers to the third year of loving you, it just keeps getting better.
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