She's relentless in her impatience, calling me all the damn time, wanting to know where I am and when I'll be home. And when I do finally get home, there she is, sitting on my porch steps and staring at the clouds. I'd invite her up, but she'd much rather collect from me a pre-determined sum of cash. Sometimes we make small talk. Most other times she just leaves.
On the flip side, she always seems to know exactly what I need:
Love is a beautiful thing.
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