Sarcasm - I used to be in love with it, the same way I was one day in love with tenderness. Wit and clumsiness; beer, wine and all colours of tears, ideals to most people impractical. Such a hard time trying to find unusual kinds of charm, unpredictable ways of getting me unarmed and unprotected for the sake of a good laugh about it ten years after... I once loved whatever I disagreed with... and I loved it twice. After all the beer, wine and tears, after easier said than done, I remembered the nights I went home on my own and they all felt bitter; the unanswered calls hurt deeper than I now recall. It was about time my sparkling eyes ceased fire; there was no room for a third fall. Some say I'm wiser, others cry I'm the same. I still think of sarcasm and tenderness, wit and clumsiness - but, strangely enough, with no face and no name.
The question is not "why does it always rain on me?" I guess it's more like "how do I get to enjoy it?"
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