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I've spent years traveling the tundra to find you and maybe for you to reach out and find me too. But you like the cold and I am tired of accommodating to your landscape. It's cold and barren here. This love is frostbitten.
Motherfucker, alright, so you're probably wondering why there's a bunch of deleted sound bites. I was gonna read you a fucking poem, but I'm just pissed off that they weren't in the same fucking time lap, so now I'm just not gonna do it. It's a pretty good poem, actually. I like it a lot, but... As you can tell, I may have made a fucking wookie, and now I'm a bit stucky wookie, and I don't wanna do it again. I'm not- I'm not trying again. I'm not even... I'm not attempting. I'm done.
I know you've spent years traveling the tundra to find me. Maybe for me to even find you too. But the truth is, I haven't even found myself. Yes, it's cold. Yes, it's bare. But please don't leave me here. Every day that you're around, the sun gets closer and closer, it gets warmer and warmer. This love is dethawing.