A woman who hates you is playing the pianoforte.
You have five hundred a year. From who? Five hundred what? No one knows. No one cares. You have it. It’s yours. Every year. All five hundred of it.
A charming man attempts to flirt with you. This is terrible.
You are in a garden, and you are astonished.❞
If they are tearing your insides open and leaving them for the wolves,
Stitch yourself up then walk away,
and say, like a tired soldier to their country,
“I love you but I will not die for you.”
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