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I Am Santo

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She left him laying in the other room, a wall in place of thousands of miles, and in the mirror, a woman searched her eyes for a sense of gravity. She knew the girl there, caught in looking glasses with a sense of loyalty and revulsion that cornered her into compromise, but here was someone angry, fearless and entitled. The air had started to taste differently, her lips stung and she wanted to eat life, savor it on her tongue and dance with light crying on her naked curves. There was day pulling at them, then night would demand, another morning, afternoon, evening and then he’d thicken that wall with obligations unmet on another ocean, impossible for her voice to allay his turbulent moods. She studied her own round eyes, the depth of her dark gaze revealing volumes louder than she knew she could scream, and the woman smiled, for the girl was gone, drifting into the shade of history, and there she was, standing in daylight, unflinching. She wasn’t sure if he saw her, but it didn’t matter. She saw her, and she loved her.


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