“I want to spend my time with you”
written in Tippex on a broken house tile stamped out on a blank sheet of snow drawn by a finger on some foggy window scribbled in the back of an exercise book whispered in the darkness of a flickering cinema turned into a song by Ed Sheeran printed on T shirts, birthday cards, pencil cases stolen by politicians The answer tapped out on an Iphone “My time’s my own”:
Try as we might, it isn’t…
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