“he loved my fire… as long as i was held tight within his grasp. but when i was out of his line of sight, i'd better be somewhere soft-voiced and southern-charmed, sitting still and not looking too pretty. and so i made myself sweeter and smaller and less and less and less, for his fears… and in the end, he still couldn't love me. and i didn't love me either. but i'm slowly starting to… and i want to love all of me. so the next time a boy wants to bring me flowers, he has to want to love my fire too.”