Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

I dreamt about B last night.

She showed me her left hand and said, ‘I got married’, delirious, blasé, cold.

‘It was always me and Mrs B and Anna (the cat?).  There was never an us.

Then she walked away from me and left me frantic.

I think it’s time to let go.

(re: Yeats, W, B.)

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