You’re mine. I send flowers to your desk, basking in the brightness of your smile as I watch through your office window. This evening I wait for you, ignoring belching bus fumes and busy people rushing by. They don’t notice me in the November gloom, and neither do you as I fall into step behind you, your heels click-clicking, hurrying off the main road and onto a quieter street. The stars are almost blinding when I grab you; I’d give them all to you if I could. You’re mine.
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