November. December. Remember.

September, streets capsizing, spilling over down the drains. Shards of glass, splinters like rain, but you could only feel your own pain. October, talk getting nowhere. November. December. Remember. We just started again. Please, please, please get up off your knees now. So love is big, is bigger than us. But love is not what you’re thinking of. It’s what lovers deal, it’s what lovers steal. You know I’ve found it hard to receive. ‘Cause you, my love, I could never believe.

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