Keep the Ghosts Behind the Door

So a magical person has come back.
I tried to pretend the whole unfortunate incident was a dream.
But there's proof against that now.
How do I feel?
Shrug.

Hurh?

This sorrow's heavenly, it strikes where it doth love.
SHE WAKES

Great. My life is dedicated to learning how to be the mysterious Othello and (kiss and) strangle Desdemona. Who is Phillip. The most poetic thing I've done was write a french poem on a game of jacks. I still need to come up with something that rhymes for the assignment.
I'm out of chocolate.
My dog mauled most of it.
According to Dr. Google, he won't die.
Or shouldn't.