Believe me darling, we’re all okay. We’re made of shattered glasses and broken dreams with words written over and over again till they lose all meaning. They call us the broken and the damaged, but darling, we’re all okay.
There’s a past written on our skylines that they can’t quite read, too focused on the skyrises that speak of only our lack of symmetry. They don’t know that this is what makes us so unique. All bumpy and lopsided and with dilapidated buildings in our pores, exposing the sour truth of our pain forsaken lives.
We’re a city of thought. Our streets wind through gold mines of love lost and hope forgotten; they make a path of situational progress and lack of choice. They think these streets lead nowhere, but they’re wrong.
They tie together all the shops and houses of our memories; a road map of every emotion ever…
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