He's white, I'm not; I'm Chinese.
Green eyes versus dark brown ones, so dark you can't tell where the iris starts and ends.Perhaps you could call me his lolita.After all, he is eleven years older than I am.He always taste like cigarettes, but I probably do as well. He smells not like a boy, but a man. He belongs to an era of grunge, I belong to the generation that worships what is long gone.But my love is one who is oblivious to the stares that come our way.Leave us alone in this bell jar where an hour is but a minute.
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