I remember all the times since when I wished something would happen. But I never made a single move, I never said a single word. I did not love him any less, but maybe I would never be loved enough by him or anyone. Maybe it just wasn’t possible then, maybe it’s not possible now. Or—honestly, why woe-is-me read even that much into it—maybe I just wanted to have more sex? Fuck it. I have been trained by a lifetime as a girl, an adolescent, a woman to frame everything using the handy and acceptable construction of love and relationships. So palatable, so pure. God forbid it could be more primal
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