Good night story

She was my rival. I was my foe. She smiled provocatively. I recited the darkest of Poe. Her blonde tresses and blue eyes begged to be adored. My raven waves and hazel orbs were not of mystical lore. Her lips poured words of honey.  My fingers scratched verses of regret and melancholy.  We all know how this cliche ends.  She got the man … and so did I.  

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