My lungs are not too black.
I am not very kind. I am hardly a logician. I am not entirely aware of social regulations, and may thus act shamelessly.
I am open to infidelity in a marriage. I must have lovers permitted for myself, as well. This is not a fault.
Familiarity need not breed contempt and children.
The viability of time travel would confirm the age old assumption of a predestined future.
This is why we can't have nice things.
Postscript: I've listed everything you stole since we met: stole no kisses, just some books and the odd cigarette.
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