-I sink in. Into her warmth. I want to melt into her, melt with her; even as she pushes away. There’s a distance and it grows and reverts to its meager state at gestation, the obstacle that eclipses the heart. It has its own phases, like the moon. A cycle of waxing and waning. When she pushes away, there is nothing left, but to let your eyes glisten and wait expectantly, as the werewolf-kin does the lighting of the full moon, the apogee, the swelling of a heart. That swelling which releases the warmth. That warmth which emanates from deep within, a torch kindled or rekindled, burning away all distance and semblance of.
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