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There are two types of people in this world: those who stop for a stranger on the side of the road and those who keep on driving.
Took a whole fucking yard instead of an inch, but that’s how I’ve always been. Men like me don’t deserve freedom, but we sure as shit chase after it.
“Tell me what you want,” he says. “You,” I whisper, accepting my sin. And wanting more of it.
“If you want this, I’ll give you everything I can in this little world of ours.”
The pain in my relief comes from how fucking lost I am without her.
I felt things for the first time in a very long time, maybe even my entire life. I had happiness with her.
While I escaped the prison for my body, I couldn’t escape the prison in my mind. That’s a life sentence, and I’ll never have freedom from that, even as the most freeing thing lies beneath me. There’s no way to turn off who I am. Even for her.
There’s a battle within me to try to be good for you. It’s a whole war inside me.
I’ve never said I love you to anyone. It feels unnatural. Too foreign. It’s a concept I can’t wrap my mind around.