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Stillness. I wait. You are immobile but active, hot shards and death-inspiring chills wrapping feeling you raping you as a husband rapes his wife, nonchalant. I am aware of this activity, but cannot watch it for myself. You too are silent, half-breathing. At some point, you will fall asleep, or burst into tears, tear into me with words or fingernails, perhaps attempt suicide. Until then, we will be still, and I will wait.