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You Used To.
You used to make me write hearts in every page of my notebook
Now you make me write poems in every page that I get
I may write a bunch of goofy, girly, stupid love stuff
I just can't mean what is in it.
Those poems to me are just papers
With tons of bull written in them
You may look at them as the proof that I love you
But at the end you shouldn't pay attention to them.
I show them; the only thing you say is "You're talented."
It's not like I'm expecting for more
Little boy, it's not that I don't love you
It's just that the fun is dying off.
I used to get excited when I talked to you
Even jump when you got on
I used to have long-paged conversations with you
Now a paragraph is what I got.
It's not like I feel it's totally over
I just feel I can touch the end
But inside, deep, it's all a trap
That right now I'm trying to state.
I just need an honest 'I love you'
I don't think I can answer the same
You used to make me write hearts in my notebook
But I think this is the last page.
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