I don't know. It feels like it might be another love letter, only creepy. More creepy, I mean. We'll see.
I love you, I think, the way the dead do the living; I am possessive, envious without knowing why, but patient, too. This too shall pass, given enough time, and time is all I have left. I can wait.
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On Reflection...
Things that amuse me. Or confuse me. Or just need talking about.
In whatever language happens to strike my fancy.
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