Vanity Is Rewarded
To obsess, we must have an object of desire, a subject for our lovelorn narrative, and a muse.
This week, in particular, I have been rolling in the lush fields of emotional sadism. They are just outside the city limits, past the railroad tracks, and I will only meet you there at night, Dear Reader.
If you catch me in the city before that? You will find me whipping hearts against a brick wall to hear them shatter.