You fit into me.
Like a hook in an eye.
A fish hook. An open eye.
Quite the splendid love poem, isn't it? It reeks of failed marriage, angry exes, and sadistic/masochistic significant others. Not my cup of coffee, but what can I say, it's got a nice ring to it. It's kind of disconcerting, though, when the creepy landlord on the floor above you leaves
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...Too much sleep. Too much tea. Your meal planning leaves something to be desired, also. A walk is a very good idea, though. It is good for the unemployed to stay busy, I am told.
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There is such a thing as having a job and 'Gasp!' having the day off.
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Ah. Indeed there is. Do forgive the misunderstanding. Your overindulgence makes much more sense now.
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Wasting my time again. Should I expect sirens? Maybe a straight jacket? Or are you just going to poke me with a syringe on your own this time? I'm sure you have plenty of them.
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It's called being a bitch, darling, get use to it.
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