upside down
flipped and twisted
suffocating underneath.
misled and confused
broken and bruised
where is the light
where is it?
me, you, theirs
his and hers.
really who's fault
is it?
Louis Pauzé: "We're all going to die. Write that down, miss. We don't have the luxury of a thousand years on this earth. Only sixty, or maybe eighty little years if we're lucky. And these years pass in a flash. Why not offer flowers to your spouse every night? Why deprive yourself of the happiness of making your house a home? Why resist your impulse? Daily life is the most beautiful voyage..."
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