She asks why I put up with her with that drawl that means she's about to be thrillingly, decadently drunk. I just laugh and pour another round because I have no fucking idea. Maybe because in spite of the imperfections this is a pleasingly perpetual toleration. She's never properly here and therefore can't leave me. When your nearest and dearest
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Someone's finally been able to put how I've been feeling these past few months into words. This entry felt all too familiar.
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