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“He fights, night after night, to peel my onion soul without caring about it. I never see his tears but his eyes burn as they fill with the putrid smell of my insecurity, anger, and pain. He loves me in glorious bouts of unreserve, swearing I'm all he thinks about and all he wants. Those precious moments are worth the hatred he seems to have for me in the hours and days that come between.” — Penelope Przekop
He fights, night after night, to peel my onion soul without caring about it. I never see his tears but his eyes burn as they fill with the putrid smell of my insecurity, anger, and pain. He loves me in glorious bouts of unreserve, swearing I'm all he thinks about and all he wants. Those precious moments are worth the hatred he seems to have for me in the hours and days that come between.