You never liked me modeling.
Sure, you said you didn’t care.
But one day you said it.
It made you uncomfortable.
You said you would rather be the
one taking the photos.
I leaped at the idea, saying it was
all I ever wanted.
But you said you didn’t mean it
literally, exasperated.
What you meant was you didn’t want
me doing it.
Period.
When I showed you the photos,
you said they had no artistic value.
I still don’t think you realize
the damage you have done
to my breathing confidence.
You kept it when I ran away,
and you still have yet to
give it back.
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