She asked how could I love her. She insisted she had holes. She insisted she was broken. So I asked her if she thought the Moon was beautiful…and if so, then did she ignore it’s craters? did she ignore it’s scars? The faults in it had no effect, how could she not see I viewed her the same.
Lemniscate
happiness hit her like a bullet in the head,
struck from a great height by someone who should know better than that.
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struck from a great height by someone who should know better than that.
