Lonely housewife knows exactly what shes doing
He sill walks past my perfume, still eats the dinners I make, but never looks. So I started talking to myself. Then to the walls. Then to whoever was listening. Loneliness does something strange to the mind. It sharpens it. Makes it see patterns. Hidden glances. Half-erased lipstick stains. I'm not asking you to save me. I just want to know if you'd notice me, if you'd remember how it feels to be wanted, to be watched, to be understood. Most men think I'm harmless. Until they tell me everything. Until they start forgetting why they ever loved someone else.

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