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Old Perfume
I write less and less about you,
and more and more about me,
standing in the rain,
where the storm washes my face
of tears and rinses my clothes
of your scent, and yet
the smell of my own perfume
reminds me of you.
I don't think I will wear it again,
It's not as sweet as it used to be.
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you can tell them all you want but it won't matter until they think it does
p.s. I contradict my contradictions, with or without intention, sometimes. 
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