card



The card I bought for you is etched... the dastardly thing has been handed over... like a play… a child’s play… some form of high school playground drama... and a foreboding sense of inferiority has struck. It’s not that any human being is better than any other, but most are definitely incompatible. What was I thinking? How dare I even hope for a flicker of attention from one of such beauty, such grace, such delights? 
So, for now, I sit here writhing in shame and await a future point where more pain sets in and all self-belief drifts slowly away.

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