Are these symbols that I write on your skin considered tawdry, or inappropriate, or too foreign to comprehend? I think we speak the same language, though. Your eyes tell me so sometimes. Your voice in my ear. Your face in my hair. I say things I don't mean, things I mean to say differently, things I regret. But underneath the sheets, hidden in the dark, I open up to you, and I hope that you understand.
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