Imps

The apple of my friend’s eye has taken a liking to my forbidden fruit. I know not what evil or good may arise upon the unveiling of this knowledge.

Edenic metaphors aside, the femme fatale chapter of my life has begun; when competition spins throughout the dynamic of me and friend. 

I begin embracing Byronic[?] notions of that individual moral code…the one I am to abide no matter what. The one suggesting some fucking universal truth I never agreed to. 

Perhaps this is adulthood.  Farewell, nymph of my loins.