I looked out the window this morning. The bluebirds were singing. The notes they composed went hand in hand with the words you told me last night. They knew forever wouldn't last, and they knew all of your words meant nothing. I began to sing with them because I had come to know what they had known all along. They had been singing this song every morning for the past seven months while I'd brew french vanilla coffee and scramble eggs, but I wouldn't listen. I still don't want to.
"Regret never was a part of the plan.
But then again, I don't plan well."
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