You are one of those people, it is clear, who needs help. I think you should stop speaking in a low attractive voice whenever you call. Stop making me think of velvet and fragrant tobacco and that first sip of bourbon. Stop inciting stirrings, movements between us…little rebellions, causing chaos in all of my darker places. The top half of my body is at gross political warfare with the lower. One part of me is roaring and the other wholly disapproves. You are a beautiful danger. Do not force me to open up. Some books are bound tightly for years for reasons. Some books are burned for their own good, Love. Stop wearing clothes the way that you do. Don’t allow them to cling to your body like that. Do not follow these effortless fashions where everything looks just so, because, really who could resist such a thing? The Lord knows you are beautiful, and unfair. I think perhaps you should spare a thought, dear, for those who are sick over you, burning up with you, damp for you.You know what you do. You’re a slow fever. Don’t be so very engaging, amusing or witty, or bright. You are causing confusion and jams in tight spaces. You are an accident in waiting. The type of accident with casualties spanning from me to you and here to there, a potential tragedy, a stunning unborn disaster. Should I touch you, I will suffer and you will suffer and she will suffer. You are a danger zone. I must not enter, I should not enter, but I might.”
(c) Yrsa Daley-Ward"