Wednesday, 15 November 2017


I give up, it looks like you win. I cut the branches back, let's begin again. Let's burst forth from our grafted stump, let us bloom from this wasted lump. This time, let's do it all the way we planned: careers, kids, house, a car that cost fifty grand. We'll spend up big and our love will grow, we'll hone it into the perfect topiary hedgerow. Our bark will heal, where sap once seeped, when I hit us with the cleaver. The cuts were steep, for our rot was deep, but our love was surely deeper.

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