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Young Love

Sometimes we see things as birds see things. No matter how high and how far, we can always see the target, clear as day. The muse. There stood by the corner, surrounded by irrelevant so-called friends, the love of our life smile and make our world shines so bright.
But as the sun, something so brightening is almost impossible to reach.

So we fall into longing spree. Where our affection trapped inside our own mind, begging to let go. But words won’t coming flew our mouth, even smile won’t curve around our lips. Our hands shaking while our head can’t stop flashing our muse’s face over and over until it stop working and left us freeze, broken. We can only think of one way to release ourself from the pain, from the nausea, from the race beating our heart.

We exchange songs. Hoping to explain the complexity of our feelings in a mixture of sounds and commercially written lyrics.

Beat by beat, words by words.

Somehow it works. We no longer trapped within unspoken words. Wish become bliss, and miss become kiss. We declare love as we never before. Living the lyrics, making it our own love story.

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