We could binge-watch documentaries, conspiracy theory videos and read nonstop. Trust me, it's all going to be worth it.

Like Frankie said, "I did it my way."

"Your novel. I read the new chapters and having delivered it in the morning. Will you still like to know my thoughts?"

"If we must."

"It's absurdly sentimental. The aches that you describe with such earnestness, the pain, the loss. You clearly have not lived it at all. In fact, you only seem to know what other writers tell."

"That's enough!"

"You insist on describing the torments of love when you clearly know nothing about them. What do you dream of? A kind man? A pure soul to be redeemed? Perfection? Perfection has no place in love, Edith. I advise you to return to your ghosts and fancies, the sooner the better. You know precious little about the human heart or love or the pain that comes with."

If by chance you happen to know or relate to the words written above, kindly do have a word me. It'll be an honor.