Miz, you're like the world's worst, clinging girlfriend.
Get a clue.
Nothing lasts forever.
It's over, finito, finished.
Summer days and summer nights are gone.
Harry has broken many a heart.
He don't mean no harm. It's just his nature. To take pleasure in it, I mean, like a cat enjoys tearing apart a baby bird.
At least you have your memories to comfort you.
And the old threads, like bottles of dandelion wine that never run dry. Like a sunset that goes on forever and ever and ever.
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