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London Keep Him, Heaven Help Me

The whole thing left me staring at the ceiling cursing time, distance, his impertinance and inconstancy. However gallant his offers, however magnificent the locale or proffered accomodations, his needs remained paramount. He needed someone there, needed me there, or so he said.

Tears rolled, unbidden and unwelcome, streaming out of the corners of my eyes and onto the pillowcase, egyptian silk sent to me from an exotic bazaar. My heart had realized before my head that all the cursing was only cover, distraction from the true object of my derision. With a sigh heavy enough to cause the duvet to rise and fall, I gave in and cursed my own sorry existence.

I would never go. He would never leave her. Things would never work. It would never be love, not real love, just glitz, infatuation, and illicit lust. I said no but never don’t call back. I said not now but failed to say never.

Heaven help me it feels too good to be wanted, even in this crummy, screwed up way.

It still feels good; damn me, it does.

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