Do not ask me why I miss you. That answer would come to me, eventully. Some day sometime in the future I will find myself not thinking about you. And in not thinking about you, I will end up thinking about you just like that.
All stories are my stories, but I am not my stories. I am yours. When we are older and our world is quieter than it is now; I will be in those intriguing tales that your heart spins to give you company.
Do not ask me why I miss you. That answer would come to me when it comes to me. Why hurry?
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