She’s hidden a message in a song.
A message so hidden that I don’t know if she herself noticed it. Twisted and wrapped about the lyrics is a sentimental virus that has the means to infect me and damage the last of what I have to hold dear.
Maybe I’m just imagining things. But even then I’ll continue to piece together this puzzle and work through the trail of bread crumbs—even if they turn out to be little more than the aimless mess left behind from a long forgotten meal.
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