The Fight

I don’t care about whether or not we’d work perfectly all the time, or whether or not we’re “right” for each other, whatever that means. If I thought that it would make a difference, I’d write letters. I’d call every day. I’d be at your door. I would be relentless. I’d do everything in my power to make you see, if I thought it would amount to anything, that with relative ease we could make each other happy.

The only problem, as I see it, is that there is an extremely fine line between fighting for someone and fighting with them. And always it’s impossible to know which you’re doing.

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