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A view through the rain covered window that is my mind. It may be a twisted view.
Question Marks in Red Pen (To My Dearest)
It's a small cafe with a faux-Paris setting and a mild voiced boy, who thinks himself a man, playing a guitar. A acoustic one at that. (I'll note that it's a Les Paul without really thinking.) And believe me, he's singing about a girl, however it never seems to matter which.
Even Courtney would love us... or was it Emily? Anna maybe?
The kid is pretty good (better then expected) though and I would notice if I weren't pointing out all the cliches to myself. Yet when you walk in that open door into the smell of cheap expresso with artifical flavors I realize how cliche this truely is.
I don't--I can't love you anymore.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dc4GethJnBg
My week sucked. Oh, and woman(Ells) if your gonna read it comment, because I love your complaining about my 'emo-ness'. Really I do.





 
 
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