What?" She drew herself up, stern as a cat presented with the wrong food for dinner.
This was what she needed… the quiet turning to the other in the middle of the night, the wordless meeting of lips, skin, breath. The trust, unfurling one pale petal at a time, that he would be there.
Dogs make sense. They understand hierarchy and the need to cooperate. They come when you call them. A cat though—a cat will take your number and get back to you. Maybe. If he’s in a good mood.
I see you. I will be careful with the places that hurt.
How to put this feeling, this certainty, into something as limited as words?
Bleeding isn't optional for most of us.
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