I trust that the knife in your hand isn't for anything but buttering your bread as I turn my back to you for only a moment- not to ignore you, but to ask you to watch it. You say you've got it.
So please don't think any differently of me, don't rip me out of your picture framed memories, don't forget who I've always been. Don't give me any dull-blade-made scars to remember you by, if you have to let me go.
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