"He once told me he'd sing me an endless song of acceptance", she said. I could tell by the way her eyes swayed from person-to-person, as though she was trying to capture a glimpse of the characters from her story in one of us, that this was not one of those urban legends men spoke of to their mistresses hoping for extra attention.

No.

It was going to be a tale of her experience. A story of a piece of her life.

"He was the type who would watch me shave my legs and let me take the last slice of cake. You can all probably tell by all those things I just mentioned that I am shameless and I am greedy. He never asked for more, though. He also never asked for less."

There was a silence in the room so profound that I could hear the deafening loud beats of our hearts. Was it true such a person existed? One who could see a woman as a crumbled figure of imperfection, yet still aid in making her feel desirable?

"Men wear masks, my loves. They make you feel vulnerable and they make you love them for it. Most times, they will begin by making the speech of acceptance. But it is once you are nude and completely stripped of your emotions that they will begin to question your faults and their own. There is no such thing as relentless and never-ending passion. We all turn out to be ugly and downright fucking displeasing to look at."

"The problem is, none of you can stop yourselves from being that, can you?"

We aimlessly stared at the ground and I felt my chest tighten. The fiery doors opened and the rest of us walked right through it, except the woman in blue.
She had given us the insight to our destroyers and our creators-to-be.

 The strange thing was that every word she said sounded familiar to me. I suppose she was ultimately a part of me, just as I was a part of her.