You are special.
You're not a cliche. You're not the April rain or the full moon. You're the flowers that sprang from a corpse, you're the stirring inside all the poets that dream of intangiblity. You're the plant that grew in the cracks of a cemented land. You're the sunset Van Gogh can't paint.
You're not a cliche. You're not the April rain or the full moon. You're the flowers that sprang from a corpse, you're the stirring inside all the poets that dream of intangiblity. You're the plant that grew in the cracks of a cemented land. You're the sunset Van Gogh can't paint.
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