You told me you had no morals, besides those you took up to bear like a cross for the crowd to see. The watchful eyes, checking off their lists, they know you're on the right side of the line painted generations before them.
You told me you could kill a man and feel nothing the next day. Which goes to make me wonder: Had I not survived, would you have still shed so many tears?
When they were watching?
When they weren't watching?
I know the formula still would've been applied, as it always is. Judging social situations, the variables present, and all potential outcomes.
You look stunning on paper my Dear, but that does not last unlike Love.
Love, fleeting like the wind but always coming back.
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