He thinks he now knows the highest form of rejection, so he writes the lyrics to the tune of a song about a promise and a lily.

He writes about the highest form of anger and desperation, replacing the parts of the original song where it speaks of joy and excitement. It seems fitting that way; when he’s drunk enough to stagger into a hole he calls his home and when even the earth shakes with regret.

He knows nothing belongs to him, not the song he’s writing or even the words that form in his mind – everything feels borrowed or given, but he believes that life will be better as long as he allows this feeling to remain.

So he holds it with open hands, both ready to receive, and ready to return.


Blah blah blah

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