You fit into me
like a hook into an eye
a fish hook
an open eye

A truth should exist,
it should not be used
like this. If I love you

is that a fact or a weapon?

How could I be sleeping with this particular man.... Surely only true love could justify my lack of taste.

This world is not enough, but it will have to do. You can either hold on or let go.

Sometimes there would be couples, arm in arm—laughing, happy, amorous. Victims of an enormous fraud, and at the same time its perpetrators, or so I felt.

The poems that used to entrance me in the days of Miss Violence now struck me as overdone and sickly. Alas, burthen, thine, cometh, aweary—the archaic language of unrequited love. I was irritated with such words, which rendered the unhappy lovers—I could now see—faintly ridiculous, like poor moping Miss Violence herself. Soft-edged, blurry, soggy, like a bun fallen into the water. Nothing you'd want to touch,