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   You told me that the broken swing was beautiful.
It was rusted.
And looked like it would crumble if the wind blew.
   But you still wanted to swing.

   You told me I was 'stunning'.
And when I told you to stop lying.
You promised me you weren’t.
   Sometimes I wonder if I ever believed you.

    Lies are sometimes the prettiest things.
Oh.
    
And the broken.
©2009 ~missyemily94
:iconmissyemily94:

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Just old memories.

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January 25
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