She says she doesn't hate all men, just some, then looks at me, we both
carrying the baggage of love that might never have been love, just the shadow
moving across our eyes, unsubstantial, mistaken shape we can maybe see for what
it is, dare we step out of this cave to see what real love looks like in the
light of day, or will we wilt under its scalding pressures as it unveils us,
reveals the illusion we foolishly mistook as real, do we prefer the darkness,
this Shadow, knowing it for what it is, yet preferring it to what otherwise
brings discomfort, to face reality, to bear the scolding light, we must shed
what we assumed, does her hatred to some men mean she already stepped out into
the brightness of a light I cannot bear to see, as I remain here, deluded
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