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Before a monster is a monster, it is swollen with love, it presses sin flush against the wall, it pretends that it knows what to do with its hands. And then the love vanishes, it is plucked right out of their mouths, and the monster is desolate, and the monster is withering, and all that is left is sin and a gaping hole where the heart should be, overgrown and abandoned, stars spilling out. " — Emily Palermo, And Maybe I Haven’t Been Kissed in a Long Time

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