dear 1 ;

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You were a trial. You were my virgin hands seeking out something to taint them with, the sin I wanted to use to rebel against my parents at the age of fourteen. You were the first boy to kiss me, and it wasn't with my consent. I spent the next three days thinking, "no, this is not how I planned it out, this is not the path I set myself on" but you had a pair of ears that only heard what they wanted to hear. I turned my skin into a cocoon and hid behind myself, inside of doorways and ducked into bathrooms each time I saw you walking down the hall at school because when I had to face you, the feeling of your lips on mine would trail over my body like a ghost-chill included-and I'd freeze. My veins filled with glacial ice and I don't think you ever noticed because you were too busy trying to slide your hand up my dress; your palms left burn scars along my thighs and to this day, I'm still trying to forget their sting.

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