You could've predicted this, you might have predicted this. You could say should but should is just so irritating.
Instead, you wait patiently for the fallout. How could there not be any? The risks you take, the tales you tell, they all lead you to exactly this spot.
A beautiful umbrella, that's really all you've got. You hold on to it and hope this is another one of those times when a storm is only a drop of water.
In the morning, some morning, this will only be a painted memory.
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