I can do that. In Angel the day seems like night, and the round kitchen table smells of lime; tequila sunrise. And the frost covered my bed which was comfortable.
I hate this stage, when everyone acts like they don't care but don't tell me you're not longing because that's just not fair, to my intellect, that is, I've seen the likes of you before - handsome.
It's an act, a play, and I'm good at this but I'm sick of being good I think I don't even know who I am I've piled so many layers of drama onto my skin it's like grossly applied concealer when it hardens and peels off and you look like shit.
How can a love that lasted for so long be loveless, where has the 'luf-lace' that ties people together gone? Sir Gawain was a knight I am a damsel in distress but I face the Green Gome and I like it. A bit. Until he strikes the blow, and then there'll be crying. Or even worse, no crying. Silence.
I don't want to admit because I am not sure.
Man up, already.
Tattoo.
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