Please just let me take your picture...

please, please, please..


In a week or two.

Your skin is so soft and I feel guilty for washing my hands after touching you.
But this is who I am.
I’m afraid. You know, I keep seeing these dreams. I die. I always die.

 So young.

And you won’t be my savior. I know that.
This is why I prefer to smell the soup on my hands than your perfume.
If you do nothing for me, I won’t do something for you.

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