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You don't know.

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You don't know. [Writing to you if you were me about him if he were her and I was that guy.]



You don't know how it is, until you've been in love.
That terrifying, terrible, heart-in-your-throat-as-you-fall-down-the-rollercoaster need to swaddle him in cotton, save him from himself. Swaddling clothes restrict, but you don't care. Because if he stops breathing, so will you.
It's not a matter of rationality.
That he's older than you is immaterial, that he's restricted, worth the sacrifice.
You love him, and you have to protect him. Better he live to hate you than die, loving you.
And it conflicts with your morals.
You take part in what you tell him to avoid. And more, you have a twisted philosophical guideline not to mess with others' desires.
Yet this is stronger than all those finely set-up moral walls, however twisted they may be. You love him, and those flimsy blockades blow over at a breath. Because what are philosophies, beside keeping him safe?
You don't know how it is, until you've been in love.



This will certify that the above work is completely original.
Kayla Sheridan





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