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I confessed 'I love you' – you're better than me. I lie to the world, but never to you. I cannot. Fervently, I wish not to be without you, yet I return to the real world, dying a little each time. That morbid tendency will accrue, until neither of us is anymore, and you are equal.
That said, it's my privilege to know you. To see, hear, think, speak as you do, cleanses the palette. Enjoying little lies inevitably educates, in some esoteric sense.
The pen is mightier than the sword? All the proof you need is in your death...

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