He was a poet

"...and he could not commit to me. At least that was his excuse for being unfaithful, that he was an artist, a true lover of all. He was so willing to give all of himself to get lost in another, all to wake up in a random bed and do it again. Empty fool, he was. I smashed his mother's harp on my way out the door and left on a morning train."

New nostalgia in the shoppe...