There is no justice in poetry

It annoyed her. “It” being all the small things he did without thinking. A gulping noise here, a breathing sound there, a creak in the floorboard when there should be none. She had not considered that someone could stand wrong, but he did it, and that on the reg

The only thing worse than his presence, she thought resignedly, would be his absence. Love doth make fools of us all, and make us insist that the madness continues with full force. Lest it becomes worse

Love is being annoyed by another person, and insisting on it. She’d tell him, later, when he was slightly less annoying

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