“It’s less a game and more the choreography of desire. It just feels like a game(…) You sit, your legs together. You laugh, but not too loud. You speak, but only in answers. You reveal all things through subtext. You’re the closed flower, the lidded jar, the blanketed birdcage. Someday, usually as it’s happening, you realize that all along the thin you’ve been flirting with is your own destruction.”
— Jun 08, 2025 06:24AM
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