I used to think,
"I've never been through it,
the deaths and stuff that make us old enough."
Old enough to love a boy whose name I still don't know.
We traded voices, blurted accidents.
Brutal winter froze through spring's slow crawl.
In The summers burn, the impending fall.
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I used to think,
"I've never been through it,
the deaths and stuff that make us old enough."
Old enough to love a boy whose name I still don't know.
We traded voices, blurted accidents.
Brutal winter froze through spring's slow crawl.
In The summers burn, the impending fall.
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