It started with darkness. A closet filled with stories, thoughts, and feelings. Then came the agony of pulling it all out, wondering if anyone else had a cashmere sweater, of black, gold, and red.
Next, it was subtle, like hearing good gossip about yourself and a crazy date. Then something happened:
Someone liked one of the treasures and things that were tucked away.
Eventually, I laid it all out.
Twenty-two people liked my wardrobe.
One person liked my bed.
There's something wonderful about being read. Outside your closet but inside a stranger's head
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