The week drags on, my hopes fall more. I’d love to put on a pretty face and pretend that  I still think that there’s a chance, but I know better. At least I more or less know that it’s all over and I can move on with my life. Whatever that means.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go listen to some Fiona and feel sorry for myself. I’ll be back to normal soon enough.

Say I’m an airplane

And the gashes I got from my heartbreak

Make the slots and flaps upon my wing

And I use them to give me lift

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