Ignoring the past, we come to think we may not be capable of doing what we did before, again.
I will repeat this over and over and over again to you, until it fucking sinks in.
Seeming to be listening to myself, I'll get some more coffee. It isn't yet time to show off how happily unmarried I am.
I do have a reasonable bike, but one inherited from the father is hardly going to be a good substitute for a wife, now, is it?
Go ahead and call my father a trickster: but do so to his face.
What was that, that suggests that there's information that we're missing, but stops the moment it has our attention?
So we return to pair-wise statuses that are about nothing but the blocking of the ears.
Now, looking down a street that was named after someone or other we didn't know anything about, and weren't given any information about, we look at a suburb chock full of divorced families.
So you're going to have to take it in the neck: the blame is equal.
It's equal or it's everybody elses fucking problem that they fucking got fucking married in the fucking first place.