As quick as a room is filtered when the sun decides to hide behind the clouds, so do your affections change day to day for me. Your love was ambiguous. I was weary to make out what version of you I had to love every day. You were merely irritable; unbeknowst of my weariness. There were days you & I could neither decipher whether the love we gave was unequal to the love we spoke or if we were merely running on automatic. Should the former clarify itself, must we then degrade love so much? Or does the latter prove that love has just long given up on us? 


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