love you. But you are the master of a sewn up heart and I'm unsteady on
my feet as it is.
A drunk, he said. "I cannot fall in love with a lush because they
betray you eventually, for men that don't convince."
So I swill the end of my wine glass and smile with a sinfully stained
complexion. "A lush lives life as if every moment is a medival
painting, a tapestry. Life is our tapestry, lover."
He was not convinced however, but still found it beneficial to carry me
up the grubby stairs to his cubbyhole of a room and let me seduce him.
Women know seduction because it breeds in their bones like a genetic
blueprint of destiny.
But the ending of this story is centuries of repetition and scorn.
