It always hurts more in the morning.
We know that we can't trust Lucy, but we keep coming back for more. For me, memories stretch back 70 years to the Golden Boy in '55.
Our mornings are filled with mourning.
We are told that it's just a game, don't take it so seriously, nobody died.
Shut up!
You don't know unless you know.
If you are afflicted, nothing can cure you: no soothing words, no pep talks. You have to marinate in your misery until it happens the next time. There is no escape. Masochism is like that.
Why do we care so much?
Lou Rawls said it best: Love is a hurtin' thing.
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