I want to enter people's homes through the door of their souls. - Knock, knock! - Who’s there? An adventuress who has lost her bearings and her compass seeking a moment of respite to update her emotional orientation. Do not leave me on the landing, for I see a ray of your light peeking through the door frame of your inner being. It's cold outside, in the ice of conventions that pierces me to the bone. I shiver in my person’s skin, in my woman’s skin, painted with make-up, tired. My wrinkles are grooves dug by the tears I never wept. Out of politeness, I swallow them back. Their salt on my tongue reminds me that I am alive and that I can satiate my belly with my pain. Let me lay down my burden of overly polite hellos, strip myself of my appearances, wash away my fears, before entering the realm of your being. I am tired of discerning your presence through screens, in front of which you surreptitiously see the image...
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