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“I think you’re capable of more than you give yourself credit for,” I said. “But at the end of the day, you have to ask yourself what you’d regret more—trying and failing, or not trying at all?”
The last time we shared a bed, we’d had sex, but this was a different type of intimacy. Gentler, less tangible but no less important, and rooted in fragile, blossoming trust.
