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It hurts, and it’s messy, and neither of us have a clue as to what we’re doing, but that doesn’t change the fact that at every opportunity I chose you. I chose your laugh, your eyes, your voice. I chose the fucking noises you make as you sleep, the anger inside of you when things don’t go your way. I chose your messy hair and your sick days. I chose your delicacy and your grace. I like the feeling of being in control, especially since I so rarely am, so trust me when I say that I chose you. Believe me when I say I was terribly deceived. You don’t choose love. Despite that fact, I’d like to believe, that you chose me too.

The first thing I ever “wrote” for you said that I didn’t want you to fall in love with me, because all falls end. I stand by that statement, don’t fall in love, not with me or anyone else. Be in love. Be in love with life, with opportunity, with everything that you possibly can be, be in love with whatever makes your heart sing.

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