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I am the tall dark stranger those warnings prepared you for.
Do not force me to open up. Some books are bound tightly for years for reasons. Some books are burned for their own good, Love.
You are causing confusion and jams in tight spaces. You are an accident in waiting.
Women who were brought up devout and fearful get stirred, like anyone else. Want men. Want other women. Stink under the arms at the end of the day. Get that all too familiar mix of fear and discontent in the night. Want to do the things that they Must Not Do. Those dirty, bloody attractive things.
Thank heavens you’re resetting ever setting and resetting. How else do you sew up the tears? How else can the body survive?
Loving someone who hates themselves is a special kind of violence. A fight inside the bones. A war within the blood.