Pointless hope, I guess. We can never make it. There won't be that one fine day. The more I want it, the more it get confusing. You said twice, not once. I'm hoping for some clearer effort. But nothing seems to be. I have never expecting you to be the perfect one. Imperfectly you is what I see and want.
And now, I shall say that I'm officially gave up in you.
The end.
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