The reason I bring you down, saying things like, “Leave me alone.”, is because hurting you at regular intervals allows the darkness to pull me in.
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Amid light so bright it’s been overexposed, I can’t quite make you out…
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The place known as despair exists beyond our imagination – nothing more than a deep, deep, blackness… a tiny little place from which I can manage to not miss the tiny light that is you.
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But faced with kindness, I’ll grow weak again…
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I’ll end up wishing for you to, “Love me.”…
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I’ll end up yearning for you to say, “You’re not alone.”!
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Taking strong measures under the impression this mustn’t be allowed, I’m doing all kinds of foolish things…
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And once I do away with the parts of me that are honest, I’ll lose track of who I even was.
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Don’t the words “I love you.”, and morning kisses, become nothing more than salutations once we grow used to them?
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But amid days that shine so bright they’ve been overexposed, we’re unable to notice…
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The place known as despair produced a synergy that reminded me;
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Mere recollection seems to be achieving an afterimage effect:
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And you’ll be in tears before this “present time”.
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That nostalgic phrase: “Love me.” will be something you long for.
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Because you’re here, I’m still just as weak as I was before…
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I can even honestly wish for you to, “Love me.”…
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And I come to the conclusion that, “I’m happy like this.”
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