I wish to have a treehouse; where we could sit and talk all day long, asking questions about those numerous tattoos I have got inked last year.
About the wedding gown, which somehow looked inappropriate with your curves, as you always looked a way more beautiful than it.
About the tiny dress I had bought you for the prom, which you hesitantly denied to accept; and looked prettier than the eternity in it.
About those flowers which we exchanged on the last Valentine's, when we were together to celebrate it for the last time.
About those candies which I used to present you, wrapped in tissue papers, to prevent you from getting a scolding for eating too many of them.
About those childhood memories, which anyhow look blurred now; for we always wish to have them in pictures; and we know, it couldn't be possible anymore.
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