you want the truth, of course. you want me to put two and two together. but two and two doesn’t necessarily get you the truth. two and two equals a voice outside the window. two and two equals the wind. the living bird is not its labeled bones.
You wanted happiness, I can't blame you for that, and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy but tell me you love this, tell me you're not miserable.
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