You remember that day we were all hanging out, and you were still with her, and I was still with him? Everyone was talking, and I was just watching you and trying not to look like I was watching you. Or rather, I was watching her hands as she trailed them across your chest. It took me a moment to realise she wasn't just stroking you; she was drawing lines and patterns. I couldn't make out all the pictures, but I caught one or two images - a child's drawing of the sun, a stick figure, a smile face. Meaningless little squiggles.
That was the night we first kissed, and I remember thinking - I wouldn't do that, when I touched you. I would draw something that meant a damn. I would write your story, on you.
That was the night we first kissed, and I remember thinking - I wouldn't do that, when I touched you. I would draw something that meant a damn. I would write your story, on you.
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