when virginia woolf wrote "i never seem to run out of tenderness for you" and vita sackville-west said "oh my dear, i can’t ever be clever and stand-offish with you: i love you too much for that. too truly." and girl in red sang "i will follow you home, although my lips are blue and i'm cold" and natasha ngan wrote "she makes me feel reappeared. reimagined. her touch shapes me, draws out the boldness that had been hiding in my core." and oh pep! sang "my baby talks at a mile a minute, she sings like a church with a choir in it" and audre lorde said "there is, for me, no difference between writing a good poem and moving into sunlight against the body of a woman i love."

or when edna st. vincent millay said “someday i shall write a great poem to you, so great that i shall make you famous in history, or dedicate a book to you, or collect a fortune & die & leave it to you” and when sarah waters said “i’ve been missing her for so long, it’s come to seem that wanting anything must be only another way of wanting her” and when margaret mead said “i’m lonely for your arms” and when emily dickinson said “i keep wishing for you, keep shutting up my eyes and looking toward the sky, asking with all my might for you, and yet you do not come. i thought of you, until the world grew rounder than it sometimes is, and I broke several dishes”

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