I am a writer who loves to daydream about food and has her nose in books. I can give amazing relationship advice, bad at following one though. You may detect a hint of sarcasm in what I say, but I am really sweet.
Her characters feel like people who may be living in some part of the world and that is true for this novel too.
She just crept up inside my thoughts and then refused to leave.
Love is a requirement for me, a requirement that surpasses my need to have sex. Am I broken?
Talking to a stranger, telling them your thoughts, is intimacy of a different level which comes with the liberty to pull back whenever you want.
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