I looked at you through rose tinted glasses. 81 degrees. It was one of those times when your hair both shined blonde but felt brown. You smelled like fresh orange zest and vanilla. Tangled sheets dirtied with last nights escapades. I feel lost on your freeway. Every curve twisting in between shadows painted on with lush strokes of sun.
Don't know if I've heard such a good song in a long time.
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