We only just begin to live with white lace and promises. Romance and idealism. We exist within a cocoon of daydreams.
Until we meet our lovers. Each experience, one by one, they bruise and darken and feed the chrysalis we are growing in. Until one day we emerge. The white lace is gone. All that remains is dark leather and a sadistic view of how love is. A lonely moth to the flame of abuse and denial. He hit me and it felt like a kiss.
