Once you realize that the only skin you will ever touch is your own, once you do that, then it doesn't seem so bad to live inside someone else's amnesia. Even forgotten, your outermost barrier is always yourself and even the fiercest love cannot overcome it. The eclipse of two individuals can last no more than a moment. It's common sense, then, to
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When-you-come-home, when-you-come-home, it isn't sad at all; rather, it leaves time for proper planning. I love Indian food! (And naan, I forgot to mention.)
(You're welcome.)
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I feel as if such liberation is hardly guaranteed as fact, but rather, each woman must learn the ropes of feminism on her own, all the way from Wollstonecraft to riot grrl. It's impossible to appreciate it otherwise.
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(My own will arrive shortly, I hope. An impressive large white sticker was stuck on it and sent, which can only mean speed.)
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