My body Healed quickly. But the wound to my psyche was deep. Wide. First aid, too little, too late, left me hemorrhaging inside, the blood unstaunched by psychological bandage or love's healing magic. Eventually it scabbed over, a thick, ugly welt of memory. I work to conceal it, but no matter how hard I try, once in a while something makes me pick at it until the scarring bleeds. In my arms, Ashante cries, innocence ripped apart by circumstance. Bloodied by inhuman will. Time will prove a tourniquet. But she will always be at risk of infection. (124)
Is it wrong to leave relative security in favor of unknown risk at the side of someone you love?
Living means taking chances. Risks. Playing safe all the time is being dead inside, even if you happen to still be breathing.
My priest tells me i should not date a mormon but im just too in love with you that i'm willing to take risks
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