Was at rif's place, we were walking around her apartment with just our intimates. The freeeee feeling. I think the people from the opposite Great Eastern building could all see us. Picture full length glass windows.
Anyway, saw this poem from a scrapbook filled with her memories:
A woman came out from a man's rib
Not from his feet to be walked on.
Not from his head to be superior over
But from his side to be equal.
Under the arm to be protected
And next to the heart to be loved...
I hate it whenever i'm beginning to get close with somebody, my inner self feels weird and reports a message to my brain to push him away. I must open myself up to others, and i must do it with an open heart.
I must not make use of others i must not make use of others i must not make use of others.