It has to be so cloak and dagger, all hidden behind drawn curtains to protect the feelings of the ones who knock at the door, or ask you to dinner.
… but inside, the floorboards are rotting, the furniture is splintered, and the fabrics are stained with the overwhelming confusion of feelings.
An angel wars with a devil, but the battle was over long ago. The wounded just aren’t healing, that’s all.
And then another bullet comes whizzing through that gap you left open for the cats to come in.
This is the House that Jack Built. And its foundations were never solid.