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let’s have a picnic, just you and me. sitting on grass, looking at the sky and talking about nothing. i can almost taste that joy, that freedom.
you’d tease me, saying i look at you like you hung the stars, and i’d reply with some shamelessly romantic line that’d make you snort. we’d look at butterflies and bugs, and i’d try to find a four-leaf clover.
not that i could get any luckier than i am now with you.
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