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chapter forty three

//If someone was to ask me why I write so much about you, or about love in general I would have no answer. What must I say? That you consume all over? Or does my love for you do that? How do I tell them that I had been so far banished from intimacy in all stages of my life that the mere sight of it feels like an opportunity to be grabbed? How do I tell a stranger that there is so much pain, so much suffering I've witnessed, been a part of, that I can't let out of my chest? It's like a dragon, chased and locked up in a cage so small it has compressed itself. How do I tell them that if I were to twist the cage's lock open, I'm afraid I'll never be able to close it again? That it'll chase away all that is left of me? All that I want to have and to be? I wonder if you'd be able to look past it, look past the green moss over my mind, past the rusting on my heart and finally see what I've been hiding? The little boy that had been far too afraid of what they said was 'love'.&nb

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