If You Say So

Hey Friends, this post is a bit, well, sexual. If we are family or business colleagues or you just don’t want to know those types of things about me, please don’t read this! I am not interested in having awkward conversations about it. Also, for everyone, please note that this post contains discussion of rough sex, consensual non-consent, and graphic sex. Everything is written based on my experiences, and my experiences alone. Please protect yourself if this is something that might be hard for you. Thanks!

As I’ve been coming back to myself and my sexuality lately, I’ve been thinking a lot (a lot) about kink. Specifically, asking myself how I feel connected to it, now that some time away from dating has passed. Over the years beginning in 2007 onwards, I tried a variety of kinky modes to see if any would stick. Some examples include:

  • Bondage which caused, well panic. I absolutely cannot handle being held in place by rope. It’s such a hard limit for me;
  • Psychological bondage, though? Not being able to move simply because someone has told me not to? Now we’re talking;
  • Degradation I found to be annoying. Someone trying to humiliate me by being mean to me? Definitely not my jam and did not make me have any interest in pleasing them. I just wanted to leave every time;
  • Rough sex, as in very rough. Extremely heavy slaps, choking to the point of (almost) passing out, face fucking, and being thrown around like a rag doll. Fun, yes, but you can do all of those things with less … force, and they’re just as good. Honestly, control over chaos wins every time, plus having chronic pain now means I have to be a bit more gentle with myself;
  • DD/lg; Jory and I had a Daddy / baby girl relationship for a while and it was lovely. I was definitely starting to deal with my illnesses at the time, and needed the escape of cuteness in our sex lives to soften the blow of my increasingly depressing reality and he’s so lovely at it. When chronic pain made me feel like a burden, being taken care of in this super sweet way helped me feel less bad about my needs. Jory still gets the title of Daddy over anyone else, and I love when we play like this a bit, though I’m less about the cutesies as a distraction from life method nowadays.

Out of all of these different modes one thread consistently keeps appearing everywhere, and that’s (consensual) obedience.

On the surface, I am not an obedient person. I have been challenging why we have to do stuff the way we do stuff for as long as I can remember. Not so much initially in an “authority is bad” way, though I certainly believe that to be true today. I just always questioned everything. Less “why is the sky blue?” and more “but that way doesn’t work as well, so I’m going to do it my own way now”. At 7 years old in English private school, my Form Mistress wrote this comment in my Autumn term report card, which I think sums up my entire life to this point:

Samantha must listen carefully and take the advice she is given. Her few weaknesses come mainly from wanting to do her “own thing”, which in some circumstances is not always the best for her.

Now Miss Bogan was right about this; if I haven’t been happy with how a thing is being done, chances are I’ve developed my own way of dealing with it. For the longest time, I simply assumed that the way I moved through the world was the same way everyone else did. I didn’t realize that my behaviour wasn’t the norm. When a rule or suggested guideline didn’t resonate with me, I didn’t follow it, always believing that it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. I say this in the past tense, but really the same is as true for me today as a 41 year old woman as it was for me as a 15 year old kid. I have always questioned authority when it’s come to rules and guidelines. At the very least, rules are meant to be tested, but often I’d much rather break them if they don’t appear to be well thought out. Rules for the sake of rules? What’s the point!

And this next point is key. I’ve never wanted to break rules because I’m a bad person who wants to “stick it to the man”. I haven’t been trying to rebel; I’ve simply wanted to figure why we do the things we do in life. I’m not about doing things differently just for the sake of it, but I’ve also never been about doing things the same way as everyone else, just because, either. The exceptions, of course, are when it comes to societal moral and ethical expectations of us as citizens. In those circumstances, I will always go along with doing what’s right. Being a good and kind human, and sometimes going above and beyond, does rule above all else for me.

In my 20s when I was a wedding planner for a period of time, I set out with the intention of only doing non-traditional events. I worked with couples who all said they wanted to do their special day differently, but the further we went along in the process, the more traditions, they had originally said no to, kept creeping back in. It was both frustrating and enlightening, trying to understand why they felt they had to do some things that they didn’t have any real personal attachment to. I’m all about traditions – of course in the “make my own” kind of way – but it drove me batty that so many of them adopted wedding day staples they didn’t even care about. I quickly knew it wasn’t the job for me, though I definitely had a lot of fun doing it.

In my own life now I love traditions because they are ones that I’ve chosen myself with purpose and intent. If a particular aspect of a holiday doesn’t resonate with us, we don’t do it just because everyone else does. We make it our own.

My relationship with obedience has been a journey, but it’s what I keep coming back to when thinking of kinky sexual relationships I want to have. We’ve clearly established that I’m not a Yes Man. I don’t blindly follow the herd. Instead, I would rather be a kind and compassionate weirdo, navigating her own way through, vs a person who never questions why they do things, or takes time to determine if what they’re doing is right or wrong. My will is extremely strong. I am 100% my own woman and rarely care what strangers think of me for it. So, why is it that when a dominant partner – or even one who’s only casually dominant – tells me what to do, that I both almost immediately fall in line and find myself often extremely turned on by it?

Part of the answer lies in the simple audacity of them attempting such control over me. We’ve established that I don’t present as a person who’s going to do what she’s told, but I’m also not a brat. I mean, I’ll tell a dominant partner that they’re being annoying for their sometimes outlandish requests, but I’ll more than likely still do them, (as long as I am comfortably, am not physically hurting myself, and aren’t going past a hard limit just to please someone). As I said above, I don’t do my own thing to be a rebel, I simply want there to be justifiable motivation behind the choices that I, and those around me, make. So when a partner tells me, for example, that I have to stay perfectly still or that I’m not allowed to talk or that I must bend over and lift up my skirt to them because they said so, I’ll do it. Partially because of the fact that they have the guts to try telling me what to do. Like, don’t they know who they’re dealing with? They think that I’m going to just put that dick in my face and treat it like the most important task I’ve ever had in front of me? Seriously? Wait, oh, that’s actually what I’m doing? Oh, ok. Fair. Why though? Oh, because they’re telling me to and they seem to be very serious about it? I mean, ok. Sorry, I mean, of course. I mean, yes, Sir!

Obedience turns me on so much because it’s often taking something so silly and turning it into something so serious. Like, ok sure, pal. I’ll just interrupt my important day to go and touch myself because you told me to, uh huh. And then, oh hey look, I’ve found myself doing exactly that. Because of the audacity, you see! Don’t discount the fact that these things are fun, as well.

At the end of the day, I really love when my partner insists I do something because they want me to. They see this strong woman in front of them and realize that, with compelling enough motivation, she will bend to their will, because they had the guts to demand it of her. Who am I, a woman on her own path, to tell this man that he’s not allowed to walk his own and insist that I follow him along. Are you really going to let him get away with taking charge like that? Oh, yes, definitely, feminist me. I’m going to likely do whatever this man tells me to, because I don’t actually have a good reason not to, but he sure seems like he’s got a good reason for me doing it. And that’s the heart of it, right there. It’s about forward motion. It’s about them deciding that this is how it is now, that they’re in charge and I’m going to do as they say. It’s about them knowing that I cannot argue with our mutual pleasure as a motivation. It’s about the fact that they’re making a choice and not just telling me what to do because they think they’re supposed to.

And also, do you know what an absolute fucking delight it is for me to take a break and not question the why of everything I’m doing? To realize that, in that moment in time, whether I’m in his bed in my house, at their feet, underneath her, or behind a screen across town, I don’t have to decide what happens next. The thinking is being done for me and I am free to be, well, free.

Let’s get back to the audacity component (because obviously I love it). I find confidence to be incredibly attractive, both in and out of the bedroom. When a lover knows what they want and goes for it, who am I to stand in the way of their dreams! And if their dreams happen to (consensually) challenge my relationship with my boundaries, isn’t that part of the fun for me? I want people to feel good, both physically and mentally. And my gosh it feels good to know that a submissive partner trusts that you have everyone’s best interests at heart. To know that you will instruct this person and they will do what you ask because they want to.

Having been on both sides of this one, I can say with certainty that there is a beautiful escape to be found on either side. Truth be completely told, y’all know that I also love attention and am forever simply wanting to be seen. To be validated. To matter. When a lover takes control, I couldn’t possibly be more seen than in that moment. For suddenly, everything I do is under the microscope. Am I positioning my body to be used somehow? Am I choosing my words very carefully, trying but likely happily failing to avoid the perfect slap on the face? Whatever it is, I am the centre of attention, even if I’m just being used as an ottoman. My every breath matters in that instruction, whether it’s as innocent as being flipped into a new position on the bed or as intense as not being allowed to talk for even 15 minutes. 

I am taking a break from my brain. I am being seen. I am being of service. I am making them proud. And damn, if my body isn’t responding in waves.

It’s completely invigorating to be with a lover who knows that you’re a strong, independent person, in control of your own life. Yet here you are, feeling so pulled by the possibility of not having to be in control for once that you’ll let them take over. I love being my own person but gosh I sure do like getting to take a break from myself every now and then. To immerse myself in my lover’s world. To be what they want me to be and to do what want me to do. To be used as they see fit. We know I won’t rebel, but I will be a) clear about my hard limits and b) a little sassy at times when they know they’re pushing me close to the edge of my flexible ones. For the most part though, I’ll do as I’m told. Always choosing kind, stern control over chaos and uncertainty.

Obedience brings me purpose, even if it’s temporary. It can both scare me and bring me immense joy. I can offer it to a dominant or accept it from a submissive. It keeps me both on edge and content. I get to experience the world through another person’s expectations, forgetting that mine exist.

I thought now I might share some of my favourite obedience moments from my life, some long ago and others more recent. I’ve left names out of it. For most of these, I’m the one who’s relinquished control, though every now and then I’ll treat you to a switch. I realize that I haven’t said it yet but I don’t believe that kinky compliance has to be a full Yes, Sir, no, Sir scenario. Even the smallest of actions with intent can hit the right note.

I love(d) obedience when:

  • I’m sucking his cock and he stops me to turn me around because he absolutely needs to fuck me;
  • He needs me to be quiet and, as shushing makes me moan more, he tells me to shut up while he’s fucking me. He covers my mouth, growls it into my ear. I’m in such awe of how this beautiful, kind, and funny man is using me for his pleasure in that moment that I gladly make no further sounds;
  • The way I made her look me in the eyes while she came, and again. How she collapsed into me when I told her how wonderful and pretty she was for sharing that with me;
  • The way he told me to go to the restaurant bathroom to take a photo of my pussy to send to him once I got back to the table;
  • The way I seized the moment and kissed them against my car on our first date, and they almost fell over in delight;
  • How I told her to show us both what a very good girl she was;
  • Watching his happy and proud face while I went down on her;
  • Being told not to talk and having to communicate my desires with just my face and moans;
  • When I laid underneath her, telling her how pretty she was and so good for being fucked by him on top of me;
  • When out for drinks, I spend the entire evening in anticipation, waiting for the conversation to turn dirty, waiting to feel completely naked at the table, whilst (pre-pandemic) close to so many strangers;
  • As we fuck, he grabs my hands to hold me down in place underneath his weight and motion;
  • I’m at their place and I find myself unsure of what to do. I sit on the couch. I sip my drink. I wait while they watch me squirm, knowing that I’m ready whenever they say the word;
  • He kisses me on the forehead and, just for a brief moment, I don’t need to worry or think;
  • On the drive back he says “From now on, you can only say Yes, Daddy or No, Daddy. Do you understand?”;
  • Hearing “We’re going to go to my place now and I expect you to be on your best behaviour when we get there”;
  • I stand in the middle of the room and slowly undress myself. They lift my arms up and push my legs apart. I am, inspected;
  • He scares me with the threat of a (consensual) face slap if I deviate at all from his instructions;
  • Feeling the scary, yet beautiful subspace weight of his disappointment in me if I get it wrong (and the glorious security in aftercare that makes it all ok);
  • I go into the bedroom and see that he’s already laid out our plans for the evening. I just have to show up and do as I’m told;
  • I’m grabbed by my lips, my cheeks. My face is squeezed in ways where I must look silly, but I let them grab at me however they want as their plaything;
  • He takes my coat and then tells me to twirl in my dress for him so he can really see me;
  • When he pulls me by the hair and says to me, “You’re mine”;
  • I grab his hand as he leads me to the bedroom. He pushes me down, ass up facing him, so he can appreciate and explore;
  • I wasn’t allowed to cum for days until they told me that I could;
  • He told me to fuck my partner that evening, and I got to feel like I was fucking both when it happened;
  • He’s made me crawl over to him, slowly, not dropping eye contact, staying upright, waiting to hear what’s next;
  • When I’m crying from a painful spanking session and they grab me to snuggle me close and tend to my bruises;
  • The look in his eyes when he rests his fingers on my mouth and I hold his gaze while sucking on them deeply;
  • How it never matters if I worry that I’ll look bad in a photo he tells me to take because he doesn’t think I do;
  • How only a few words can make me confess anything, simply because he’s curious and I love the attention;
  • When I know what it feels like to be her and how much I want to give her the world in that moment. To see her, to help her feel safe, to take care of what’s next.

Thanks for reading, as always. <3

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Finding & Creating Joy

Today I just need to write. It might not be very well thought out or edited, but hopefully writing this will get it out of my head so I can focus on the next crisis:

I don’t think it would be too far reaching to say that joy is hard to come by nowadays. We’re almost 2 full years into a global pandemic and Omicron is swiftly ruining holidays with extreme speed. It is not at all easy to be happy right now, never mind “festive”, and yet we’re still out here trying because what else is there? Christmas is coming up and advertisements make it seem like business as usual; but is it really?

In 2020 I was so excited for this year’s holiday season, expecting that we’d be back with friends and family in person again. With talks of a vaccine on the horizon, it didn’t seem at all plausible that we’d be spending yet another December held captive by Covid’s spell. And then, almost a full year after Delta inserted itself where it certainly wasn’t welcomed Omicron arrives. I’ve been in denial ever since, even when I recently ended up having to cancel my trip home to England thanks to new isolation rules coming into effect the day I would have landed.

I find it just about impossible to believe that this variant is taking over the planet at such rapid speeds. It’s all changed so quickly. We know when the pandemic started but we have zero idea when it will end. Only a month ago there was talk about things getting better. Everyone had more hope. It was easy enough during the first lockdown to stop dining out, stop shopping, stop seeing people. When we were completely unable to do things, at least we knew the score. It sucked a lot, but it had a definitive start date. Every beginning has an end, right? Not so much when it comes to Covid-19. How soon is too soon to drop certain safety protocols? Can we plan that social gathering? Can we afford the rising cost of everything? Should I really hug that friend or go to that new restaurant or go the game? What’s the right thing to do? What’s the wrong thing? We’re back to doubting ourselves and our own risk tolerance.

Just like before vaccines, we’re back to living in extreme uncertainty. That Mexico vacation I was ready to book in February? Likely going without that again, though my constantly pained body requires intense sunshine to take pause and recover. That casual Christmas drop-in event I bought too much food for this weekend? Likely cancelled. Seeing family around the end of the month? Likely nope. Everything is constantly up in the air and yet we’re still expected to perform. To create. To put on a happy face. To do all of the things that were already too much for our nervous systems before the pandemmy even existed.

I think we’re all a bit (a lot) shell shocked right now due to this new variant blindsiding us when hope was returning. In non vaccine-starved countries we were supposed to be getting excited for boosters, booking winter holidays, and reuniting with long missed friends and family, eating just enough mini sausage rolls and rum with egg nog to temporarily forget about this whole mess for at least a few hours. Viruses don’t care how much you missed your family though. They don’t care about your mental health. They don’t care that the weight of everything is burning you out, making everything 10x as hard as it should be, with no end in sight. In fact, they don’t care about you at all.

On top of Covid, the world is burning and flooding and twisting and blowing. The visible effects of climate change are honestly terrifying right now and the refusal by those in power to take action is equal parts maddening and heartbreaking. We have the answers to fix so many problems in the world and our societies and governments barely ever make change. It’s one step forward, three steps back more often than not lately. To try to live and function in this world as a compassionate person, surrounded by people who don’t care about anyone but themselves; it’s a constant mountain of a molehill to climb. The exhaustion is just never-ending right now. If you’re feeling that, my gosh know that you’re in the norm.

So we’re likely losing our holiday get togethers. Some will also literally lose people they might have seen at theirs. Suicides are up. Drug overdoses are up. Relationship tensions are up. Burn out is up. It’s more than ok to not feel festive right now; really it’s ok to admit that it’s hard enough to feel anything positive at all. Me? I’m feeling helpless and claustrophobic. Constantly aware of the growing lack of clarity. The lack of certainty. Getting mentally stuck on the fact that the world has changed significantly more than I think any of us can actually realize. Fighting with my brain when it tries to remember the world before Covid and starts to fritz out because it feels like another lifetime.

Outside of mental health, the levels of pain from my illnesses have been at an all time high lately. I’m afraid to use my body like I used to and feeling incredibly trapped by that lack of confidence. I want to be strong but every single movement now hurts thanks to the constant stress my nervous system is fighting. How can I voluntarily lift the weights I so used to enjoy when, even just the empty motion can cause a pain flare-up that lasts for days? My energy is long gone, making happiness often feel like an impossible target. That energy loss is a million times larger for healthcare and other essential workers. For parents, for teachers, for students. For anyone carrying additional loads thanks to this pandemic. How are any of us supposed to to exist in this constant state of purgatory? 

To be perfectly honest, I have no idea. We keep going because we must, I suppose. I have no vision of the present that doesn’t involve suffering somehow. Life will always have a lot of heartache in it; that’s just how everything has always worked. The weight of that heartache at the moment though; none of us should be carrying even a tiny portion of it. It’s so very heavy that finding joy nowadays can feel like a hard to reach goal. It used to show up randomly, in pure moments of freedom, but now it has to be mined for, like a tiny gemstone at the bottom of the deepest cavern. Or the smallest piece of gold in them there hills that you have to swim down and down and down to retrieve.

And what is joy, truly? Is it an emotion that everyone experiences the same way? Is it an umbrella term for so many different versions of happiness? Of love? Is it natural? Can we manufacture it? Is it expensive? Can it be free? Why do some people feel more of it than others? And how can we harness it to fight the melancholy that is existing in the world during this horrific moment in time?

I don’t know what joy looks like for everyone else but I can tell you how and where I find it and sometimes where I have to forge it on demand. I hope that maybe my non-exhaustive random list of things I try and find joy in right now will help you notice more instances of it in your own lives, big and small.

We have to do absolutely everything that we can to not only feel joy nowadays, but also to create it and to care for it as a community. The world is trying so hard to take it from all of us, and we must persevere together to create joy in as many ways as we can. It doesn’t have to be big; to be extravagant. It can be a sound, a smell, a feeling, a texture, a taste. It can be a single instance in time or something you do repetivitely.

The struggle we face right now makes it harder to see the forest for the trees. It’s there though. I promise you.

If you’ve made it this far, here’s a sample list of where I find joy when I’m able:

  • The almost impossibly soft spot of fur behind every cat’s ears;
  • Sunshine through a winter’s window;
  • Validation from someone I lust for and / or care about;
  • How we always prep each other’s toothbrushes before bed;
  • Ice cream;
  • Photos of my favourite people. My favourite places;
  • A client securing their next home with my help;
  • Dogs. Do you ever just look at dogs?
  • My 12 foot skeleton dressed up as Father Christmas and the smiles they brings people;
  • When I’m an absolute trollop on my close friends list and a select group of people respond with continued enthusiasm and encouragement;
  • Specific male friendships;
  • Horror movies;
  • My new love of THC pills, after decades of hating weed;
  • Watching Steph sit happily in the sun on his lunch break when it’s 0 degrees out;
  • Listening to Jory do anything at work where he’s extremely engaged;
  • Train to Mexico by Toby Sebastian;
  • Weekly Corrections on Seth Meyer’s show;
  • The moment my percocet kicks in and I can feel less pain for at least a little while;
  • Being able to secure those drugs that literally help me stay alive;
  • My obsession with leopard print, the sexiest neutral;
  • My new tattoos and the mistakes from my past ones;
  • When my limits are pushed and I complain though we both know I want it;
  • Being able to help people in need now that I finally have the means to do so;
  • Lemmie and The Bird’s Papaya. IYKYK;
  • Photos of my Mum in her brightly coloured clothing, smiling wildly, even when her body hurts;
  • Jory and Steph working together, doing stuff, being supportive;
  • The thrill of new lovers;
  • Realizing that I’m the best at sex that I’ve ever been;
  • Corgis and their corgi butts;
  • Glitter nail polish always;
  • All of the colourful things in my house that are so pleasing to look at;
  • Brightly hued eyeshadow and long liquid wings;
  • Visits and gossip with my osteopath;
  • Despacito forever;
  • Any and all of my sexy playlists;
  • The relationships I’ve deepened during the pandemic;
  • The feeling of being truly satisfied and also challenged in my career for the first time ever in my life;
  • Baseball. And Teoscar Hernandez;
  • Wait, I forgot George Springer;
  • Hang on, I mean the entire Blue Jays team, let’s be real;
  • The way Sherry (cat) asks us for her bird TV show or to be played with or for food;
  • When Ruby (cat) comes to sit next to me on the couch, waiting for me to rub foreheads with her and scratch behind her ears;
  • Having the time and energy to help people with housing questions;
  • Feeling desired;
  • Intimacy in its many forms;
  • Anything and everything that raccoons do;
  • Coming home when crossing the tracks and not getting stuck behind a train;
  • The simplicity of Weetabix and blueberries;
  • Some big (secret currently) family news. No I’m not pregnant;
  • Watching my framily as parents;
  • Driving all over the city. Learning so many new favourite spots;
  • The attention of kind but stern attractive men;
  • Thoughts of femme lips, femme eyes, femme touch;
  • When Steph and I got high last week (related, he never ever does), and how long we laughed at him asking if one of the ingredients in Ryvita Snackbread was … bread;
  • Seeing more people than ever finally start to live their truths; one silver lining to the panini;
  • Underwear and a inflatable T-rex head;
  • Discovering the non-monogamous relationships and feelings I wished I’d had the first time around;
  • Singing Meatloaf songs at the top of my lungs;
  • Booking our booster shots;
  • Beginning the process of hopefully getting my ADHD diagnosis;
  • Recognizing my mistakes and focusing on what I can learn from them;
  • Super fresh McDonald’s fries;
  • Grapes. Do they know how perfect they are;
  • Remembering my accomplishments. I wrote a book! I created a conference! I built a community;
  • Accepting how much I love astrology;
  • Cinnamon and smiles and compliments;
  • Kink;
  • When people in the fast lane actually move out of my way before someone impatient goes around them;
  • Mini candy canes, but especially the ones that have been aging for a few years to the perfect level of softness;
  • Extremely vulnerable conversations with people I treasure;
  • Letting go of people that I don’t;
  • Working with Jory to help understand his autism and how we can be better together;
  • Noticing how I’ve changed;
  • Crusty bread, butter, english cheddar, and Branston pickle;
  • Lingerie and the requests that go along with it;
  • Multi-coloured pens;
  • Heated seats in the car;
  • 90s hip-hop and R&B;
  • Compliments from fellow Realtors about my professionalism;
  • Multi-layered folded chips;
  • Being more intentional about my music choices;
  • Wellington Paranormal;
  • And, finally …

You, if you’ve made it this far. You deserve all the joy you can find.

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Samantha Fraser

“At least I’m still pretty” she says silently to herself, knowing that valuing her looks is a symptom of capitalism, knowing she has much more to offer than these eyes and lips, but in that moment relying on them to help her survive yet another day.

She hates acknowledging the fake value of beauty while recognizing that “being pretty” is the only thing in her body she can still control.

Eyeliner doesn’t hurt her the way a storm can. Lipgloss only shines and doesn’t take away her energy, day in and day out. Blush helps her look more alive, especially in those moments when just living is hard. A winged eye is the perfect trick so when she catches herself in the mirror she forgets the agony for the smallest moment in time.

She is flawed and not a pro, but she still knows what colours to sweep on to make her eyes become all you can see when you look at her. She knows her lips are envied by some and desired by others, though all they seem to do for her now is form words of pain, exhaustion, and sadness, again and again and again until she’s forgotten they could ever serve any other purpose.

She clings onto these moments of pretty, never happy to remove the paint before bed, fearing that this is the night the beauty is lost forever. It is her armour, her distraction, her tool to convince all that she is and can be more than the burden she feels.

More than someone held captive by a nervous system that seems to want to punish her for wishing she could ever be something more than this again.

If you get caught up in the sparkle in her eyes, maybe you won’t notice how her pain is all-consuming. aIf you notice the highlight of her nose and how it glistens in the light, you won’t realize that her needs now are many and often. If you notice the ink on her skin, maybe you won’t notice she can no longer give you the world anymore, though she wants to so desperately, because hers has become so incredibly small.

And if you do see her for more than the broken she feels,maybe she can forget.
Maybe she can pretend. Maybe she can find peace.

Until then, at least she’s still pretty.

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