I would gladly go to you on bleached shores, where the sun shines as yellow as a lemon in the palm of a blue giant. But there stands at the door of my castle, a scorched scarecrow with arms akimbo. I am too afraid to leave.
I like being impulsive and rubbing my fists against responsibility while eating peanut butter chunky ice cream, watching cheesy romance comedies, and writing terribly.
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