A person who gave me hope, a friend and mentor, hates herself and by law cannot tell me. I write for her. I write because she should realize she is beautiful and I love her (but not in the creepy way, just the way I love everyone, I'd like to make that clear even here), that she glides instead of walks. That she's really worth talking to. That her anger amuses me. That the only way to find a man who loves her---is that what she wants?--is to stop looking.
This is for you, mentor. I hope for you.
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