Oh, how he is so unaware, that the universe conspirates with these lyrics my heart writes for him most of the times.
How the sun gives him warmth in the cold morning breeze, how the sky paints its whole-self with amber when he walks out of the building at noon, and how the stars form beautiful constellations just for him to adore and to look at.
But how he is so unaware, he could only see them as a gift from someone else, another woman his heart longs for, and not as the universe's conspiration with me, the girl only whose name he knows.
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