Despite my armour of post-modern, post-industrial, post-everything
irony; despite the fact that I know, intellectually and emotionally, that it's a commercial
crock of shit designed to boost sales of
roses and soppy
Hallmark greeting cards; despite the fact that I'm actually rather happy being single: I suspect I shall still have a twinge of
angst tomorrow about not being in a relationship.
Cupid's a heartless bastard. I wish he was
dead. Well, what do you know? He is! See?
1 comment:
How do I love thee? Let me count the drops of blood draining from my wrists. Thank you for what is probably the only intelligent Valentine's post I've seen today...
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