So here I am, I am all unsettled and dislodged -- she should not have been so hungry for what I didn't want her to know. She should not have poked into my drawer, my baskets, she should not have pried open my locket to look at that curl of sloe-black hair. I spun her trust into injustice and tried to hide her from despair. But why should I bother to keep the peace if peace was not my soul's desire? And she couldn't stand to see my smile without squirreling out the reason.
It's sad to be out-of-doors in the rainy season, but since the deceit and fault and false were mine, I decided quietly to go. The other is not the woman for an apartment and a car, but a smoker and drinker of uncertain stars, so I'll have to turn to my dear women, now that I am unhoused. One of them will lend me a corner to stack my books while I shake my shoulders back -- the women love, but do not judge.
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