Summer is my favourite little pick pocket Smuggling pocketfuls of time and dreams slipping these stolen gifts into my notebooks and into forgotten rooms and instances which shouldn't really stand out. Filling my cupped hands with pieces of love and happiness. But Love does not really quite want me. And Happiness does not dare regard me as long term. So both come when I'm least expecting it to take back what is rightfully theirs. Swiftly apprehending and then scurging yours truly for daring to take what is not mine. When I didn't I was framed, they forced me they made me I didn't know what I was doing I was drunk I was tired I was not myself I did not know it was against the rules against Fate - and you were supposed to be my partner in crime but you were not You were their accomplice and held my arms behind my back while the blows rained down. Your face impassive but tracing circles on my bleeding skin. Summer is my favourite pickpocket but I am a terrible thief myself. And a little coward who can neither skip the consequences nor brave the punishments dealt out. Maybe I need to finally just get an honest job. Hit the straight and narrow once and for all .
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