[text ID: the boy in the sweatshirt, the boy on the bridge, the boy who always keeps me from jumping off the bridge. / I don’t really blame you for being dead but you can’t have your sweater back. /end ID]
[text ID: We pull our boots on with both hands but we can’t punch ourselves awake and all I can do is stand on the curb and say Sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine. /end ID]