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It reminds me of the way cats sit and stags stand. It reminds me of the unhurried way the moon skims across the sky. There is a completeness about her, a certainty, and a well of power that isn’t interested in proving itself, since such a thing would be unnecessary. Redundant. It speaks for itself.
Why have I been pressing myself into the shape of someone easy, someone composed and guarded and temperate, when I’m none of those things? When I don’t even really want to be?
But it had never occurred to me that someone could like messy people, that someone could find their embarrassments interesting or their revelations anything other than cringeworthy.