What business did you have with a little girl like that? She, barely 21 and you, nearing 30.
All your tormented lovers chastising you, it's not right. It wasn't right. All I wanted to be was near you, always. And all you wanted was your own, impossible happiness.
And so we danced this tiresome dance, so fabricated, so strenuous, running on the stench of your own selfish indifference and the fumes of my willful ignorance. And when anyone asked, I insisted, the most harmonious perfume.
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