Origami

Once I read a book on philosophy, which suggested that we are born "Tabula Rasa", a blank sheet of paper. As we begin to experience life, these events are recorded upon that sheet. Perhaps this is true, but it has never struck me as an accurate metaphor. I feel like my soul is more like a sheet of paper, which has been folded and creased and bent back upon itself, whether or not events have also been writing on it. I hope that one day, all the pain I've felt will turn me into something beautiful, like a sheet of paper that was tortured into the shape of an origami swan.

Fragile

Her hands. They started on my shoulders, caressing me lightly. Hesitantly. They kept flinching away from me every time I moved, but then she became more confident and moved down to my arms. Then she began to breathe rapidly, very shallow. Clutching at my arms and rubbing them. Hard. After that she pushed her chest urgently against my back and I suddenly realized that her breathing was keeping time with my heartbeat. Her urgency grew and she started scratching my chest, tugging at my shirt, trying to pull it over my head. She began to whimper and then


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