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"your body is the house you grew up in" he used to tell me,
"all the paint may not be fresh and there are cracks in the doors but they make you more comfortable to live in, my dear"
"what about the leaky roof and chipped tile in the bathrooms? all these battle scars on the wooden floors?" i questioned, i wanted to make him stumble. i wanted him to question my existence. his own existence. the world.
"beautiful. all beautiful. every single  crevice. beautiful, light, and clean. your rooms have open windows and airy curtains. white lace billowing from summer breezes. your hair smells of flowers planted in the gardens of your thoughts. oceans cannot sweep away the foundation. you will live on and on and on."
i stopped questioning. he has taken all of my doubt.
 

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