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Hopelessly Unromantic
To her of whose passion I am the object,
I can give little more than commiseration.
But from she who is the focus of my adoration,
I can receive no more than amity.
Herein lies the absurdity of my life.
The irony shades every facet
And translates to all circumstances,
Corroding every last trace of satisfaction.
Hence the success of my adversary,
And the progression of my misery.
~ by Margaret Spatafore |
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