Those words are wrong, the dial is dead, and she is insurmountably fed-up with this whole darn wrought-iron, wrangling world of cutthroat indiscretion met with a Neanderthal sense of selfish net-worth – finally, both fuksake fully able to ably meander and meaningfully comprehend… something predominantly, ear-achingly pristine

“Christine, pl-ease! Come. Play. With. Me. Again.”

Can’t you simply see, he’s been building a better existence.. for you and me, mainly