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You told me that you be on a feeling sometimes and you decide to let the lights stay green. That's why you text me out of nowhere, every few months. Telling me why you like me, what you need me for. Reminding me that you've been my bodyguard and you'd do it again if the time was right. You told me that the sky was talking. I like when you personify objects like me. Ask me to leave. You are paying for someone else's sins. I'll pay for yours and it will feel like a reward. A reward for whom? No one rides me like that, no one I can ride like that. You told me about tattoos that you've always wanted but could never get because the color work would never show up on your dark skin. I told you that I would get them for you. And then I showed you all my white canvas, ready for the images you'd been dreaming up. I've got to stop saying shit like that, I've got to stop doing shit like that. You told me that even when I can't speak, I should still whisper to you. You told me what I am not (but I already knew).