He read everything she ever wrote and thought every day of telling her, “I resent the way you always write about me, as if I wouldn’t know I was there.”
“I never write with the intention to deceive you. I think we both know you were there. But I told you before that just by knowing me you are placing yourself inside my writing. Everything in this world is fair game for a writer. You are in my world, no?”
“That’s just the way you are. This is all your world. Yes, we're all here just for you to write about.”
“I think you’re missing the point entirely. Which is why I always end up writing about you.”
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