So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.

Guilt is an overfull caffe latte in a porcelain cup. It sits on the table hoping and praying it won’t spill over the edge. It’s such a delicate bubble on top. It could spill over at any moment. The coffee looks over the edge, “We’re not going to hit that saucer, are we?” Then it checks on the other side, “How about over here? Is this side okay? How far to the saucer over here?” And then it checks on the other side again and before too long it is sloshing back and forth and in that sloshing, spills over the sides.

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