Standing in the stairwell after my voice lesson, trembling.
I want my body, the softness, to fall away, the roundness and pulse; the damp drowsy bloom of capillaries, the dry lace of sharp skin cells on my knuckles, the sucking layers of frayed green around my pupil. I want to be stripped to the last boards and bolts and angles necessary. And
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I love you, Molly.
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