I’ve been worried about you for years. Your my perfect woman, but you seem so smile with Emory eyes, you put up with things you shouldn’t have to. I take your hand Please love… tell me why you do these things. I’ll love you no matter what. But I’m worried about you… why do you seem so scared of spiders, but you put up with them anyway? Why do you have so many scars? Why can’t you put up with pets? What’s happened to you darling, that’s made you feel like you had to ignore your misery?
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