We are so close...
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We are so close...
Master...
"Why are you hitting yourself? Your hand?" My friends ask as if they should be worried. Not noticing the needle dragging across. Across. Across. Leaving it's mark.
"It feels good. It makes me feel anything at all." They like that answer. The joke answer. Only half joking as I continue.
"Hit me." I like when they do. When they try. But they aren't the master I want. That I need.