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Winter's creeping up on me. Either summer was shorter or global warming. I look around my room and all I see is an unmade bed, misplaced records and untied tennis shoes. A half burned photograph of you. Of course I couldn't see it through. Is this what I've got to show for all my years on this earth? Cause if so no wonder I question my worth. I wonder if I'll ever be truly happy. I know only time can say but honesty it doesn't look that way.
