She left me at the table again just as i started laying out my fine cutlery, as soon as i'd folded the napkins into swans and set the salad plates, dusted the foyer, shined the silver, wiped the wine glasses ! There she never was texting me something along the lines of
" I don't wanna pretend for people anymore, i'm going out alone. Maybe i'll want to get together later."
Even though she asked for supper. Even though she wrote me letters saying she missed me and wax sealed them with apologies.
Even though after riding countryside she'd call me everyday. Probably to quench her boredom as she thirst for pussy or ruin.
Even though i know the insanity of this lady i excepted dinner. I excepted witty banter and full bellied laughs over the lull of a quartet. Handpicking the prettiest maiden for her to hold for the night. Our glasses overflowing with wine and stomachs full of intimacy.
I'm overjoyed she didn't come to supper. I'm well reminded why i stopped hosting.
With love,
Erie
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