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Dear ‘Ailurophile’,
I was charmed by your sensitivity. Your words were like music to me; I wanted to wake up to its delicate rhythm and sleep to its gentle notes as your words lulled me into a deep slumber. Everything seemed perfect as if straight out of a book. But then perfection is an illusion, isn’t it? Unlike your cats who may or may not have had nine lives, you had three.
I hope your broken nose hurts you like hell from time to time.
Thankfully never yours,
The-Girl-who-saw-right-through-you ex
