Someone once said that while he is happy to play a part in my life, he doesn't want a major role.
Rough translation: When shit hits the fan, don't dial my number first.
There was no malice, though. Fear, perhaps, for his freedom.
Think about the people you run after. Compare them to who you have on speed dial. Is there a match?
Assuring? Terrifyingly so?
Silly how affections so easily attach itself to objects who are not going to be there when shit hits the fan......
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