Each night we say goodbye, I am anxious for a strange fear. By the reflection of the moon, I take him for a passing mirage. His mind, sensuality, love, and humor both excite and restrain my voice. To take my trust and give it too early only to have it be discarded as a fruitless fault, would further damage the flower in my womb. Can it be that it is forever up to me? To control and conduct my avoidance of pain in the face of countless men who will strike it upon me regardless? Yes, I know it's the toil of my time. No courting, no chaperone, no father to respect. What is stopping us from creating an irreversible mess? A woman who objects herself and holds to an idea of worthlessness, whoreish value, and meritless skill. A man who will struggle to find the value in her if she can not find it and cultivate it in herself. In short, what will become of us if he is revealed to be not that of a mirage but a body illuminated in the moonlight? With warm breath and blood in his veins. What will I do if he remains... I don't want to be a burden nor a red mark on his name.
