You don’t have to tell me how weird you are, I know how weird you are, I’m the girl in your bed the past two months. Even sex is a mystical experience for you. You carry on like a flagellant, which can be very nice but sometimes I wonder if it’s me that’s being made love to. I feel like I’m being harpooned by a raging monk that’s in the act of receiving God.
Emily, Altered States
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