I should have known that seven years would be bad luck. So tell me, what was I thinking? Would’ve been better off breaking every mirror in this apartment than crawling into bed next to you. One hundred feet tall while you were around, as soon as you took a step back my eyes sank into the ground. And hey, brown eyes, how’d you fit so much bad luck into that black dress? You’re like an open umbrella walking through my front door.


from We Don't Talk At All, released March 3, 2017



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