You used to be somewhat anathema to me you were a stench you were a stool you were a succubus but further down the line I think you'll find I can change my mind that's not a crime and even though I don't know why, it's not a crime there seems to be some sort of loop surrounding me or my activites repeat at an alarming frequency and in decline is anything that's mine sitting in a shopping trolley crying over somebody you've seen once in the biscuits aisle and instantly adored is not becoming or convincing and I know that your'e f**ed up and it's a thing you can't get over and it's worthy of our tolerance but everybody's hungry and you've eaten all our biscuits and I I love your bout of gluttony and even if it's August it gets chilly in the night and we're supposed to meet the others in the park in 20 minutes and I don't want to explain that you've been crying over someone else and that's why all your eyeliner is leaving bits of residue all over your nice face and how you won't even remember in the morning when it's over and in a half an hour when your friends are all around you and your'e drinking and you're happy and the only piece of evidence that you were ever miserable is the mascara that is covering your cheeks and maybe me sat in the corner when I try to catch your eye between deluded dreams of getting up and leaving you forever