A poem.

She woke up to the sound of your violin playing,

she got up and got her coffee, black as ususal, and her cigarette, Camel no. 9, as usual.

You had a glass of wine next to you, as usual, and you were playing something soft and sad and dramatic, as usual.

And I sat there, as usual.

And I did nothing, as usual.

I was simply enchanted.

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