When I examined you for ‘ill humors’ I longed to run my hands over your entire body, to touch your face, to caress you in the places that would give you pleasure. She was glad not to be baking in it anymore, or feeling the fiberglass splinters 64 invading her rear end from sitting on the bleachers. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. “You cannot give me ultimatums. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood.
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