She’s a mystery to me.

In the night of love, words tangled in her hair, words tired and impaired. A love so planned it ran like a freight train on a track, it’s love that’s what she lacks. She can’t commit, she wants me a la carte. I want to run, we’re smoking in the dark. The lights come on, and I, well, I just need to go. She’s ruined it all for me.

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