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Short story / visual poem exploring touch aversion. TW: Brushes on themes of sexual trauma, eating disorders, and gender stuff. Have you ever wanted to run screaming from a room even when you knew you were loved, accepted, and perfectly safe? Do you freeze? Do you or fawn? Do you ignore your boundaries to please others? What do we do when comfort through touch no longer works? How do our insecurities about our own bodies further complicate affairs? To all my friends with only sharp edges <3

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