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“You’re lucky,” he said, “that I have a soft spot for caged birds.”
“Beautiful. Mysterious. Dangerous. And an obvious, clear-as-the-fucking-moon mistake.”
“Do you think I don’t see,” he said, voice low, “that the past is devouring you, too?” I knew that a wounded soul craved another to mirror theirs.
Pleasure built there, where we were connected, the entire universe disappearing except for him and me and our bodies and everything that I still wanted from him.
