But I like it when he tells me what to do so I eat the crusts slowly, lazily, a kid who knows there’s no pudding without eating the green vegetables. ‘Good,’ he says when I’ve finished, and from those words I can see that part of him is enjoying what losing him has done to me. The havoc it’s wreaked on my body. He loves how much I love him. I am a vessel for him to see his own perfection. What Virginia Woolf meant when she said women are looking glasses that reflect the image of man back at twice their natural size. This shouldn’t be something I want, but I want anything that brings him closer
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