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Mar 2022
I write you a letter before I go but you probably won’t read it until it’s too late. That’s the beauty of life, isn’t it? The way love flows into hatred so seamlessly you don’t know it’s happened until it’s too late. Tenderness switches to anger like the flip of a switch and I want to rip your eyes out of your head. Don’t I deserve a thank you?
Written by
K
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