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still wild A bit of her is still wild, having been on her own for so long; used to fending for herself; used to finding her own shelter in the storms. And every time I leave for a few days, she becomes skittish again, her self-preservation instincts kicking in— claws and attitude defending her heart. She doesn’t want to love me; doesn’t want to need me— need my hands on her neck; my words in her ear; our nights curled together, the heat of our bodies giving, taking. -21- ...

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