So my relationship with black has become quite exclusive. I've even started 
buying black books (OK but these little gems from Penguin are 80p
each, I'm not a monster I'm not gonna turn that down).
I sometimes tell myself that summer is approaching so maybe it's time
to introduce some colour, but, alas, I reach the inevitable conclusion
that people expect something of me now, and that's to be the physical embodiment
of the lovechild of melancholy and post-pubescent angst 
mixed with a total lack of fucks to give.

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