And I was standing there and you were talking. The night was becoming denser and denser. I felt asleep and I had a splitting headache. But I loved your talk and each minute was so precious. I didn't want it to be finished. Tell me, dear J., how is it that I like you so much? Are you my brother right now?
As I was coming home, I kept on talking to you, Paul. Why is it so that I am closer to you with each moment of pain? Why is it so that I have given you the whole soul of mine and there is nothing left for me? What do you think about as you lay on your bad with this new guy? As you kiss him? As you cuddle him? As you promise him the same things you used to promise to me? Would you think about me?
Do you really keep my photo in your wallet? Does it symbolise your lasting love? Or maybe it is a tool with which you assure yourself that, the day he discovers you were unfaithful to him, you might come back to me? Might I receive you?
As I was coming home, I kept on talking to you, Paul. Why is it so that I am closer to you with each moment of pain? Why is it so that I have given you the whole soul of mine and there is nothing left for me? What do you think about as you lay on your bad with this new guy? As you kiss him? As you cuddle him? As you promise him the same things you used to promise to me? Would you think about me?
Do you really keep my photo in your wallet? Does it symbolise your lasting love? Or maybe it is a tool with which you assure yourself that, the day he discovers you were unfaithful to him, you might come back to me? Might I receive you?
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