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Posy Santoro isn’t in my system. She burst into life in my empty shell and made it into something. She is my system. Maybe I didn’t understand that before I lost her. I’m a man. I can be a cliché. Still, it’s true, and I know it now, ever since the moment I caught her. I don’t just get off on what she is—I need it.
I’m the one who clings to the wreck as it sinks, not the one who jumps ship.
I held on way past the point a normal woman would have lost the stars in her eyes.
Weak men blame women for their shortcomings.
It’s so obvious when you think about it. It’s brilliant, really, and so messed up. A man dangles love. The girl leaps. She does what he wants. He castigates her for it. And then he dangles love again. How much higher will she leap? Because she has no other choice, right? If she wants what he’s offering? There are only two choices. Accept being unloved. Or try harder.