For you, I’d treat my frame like clay and mold it until it fits into your perfectly memorized shape, alter the hems and add pink bows to ease your comfort and excite you. I would embrace the one who held that blade which carefully carved your delicate designs and I would only hope that my work comes just as close as his.
Sigh. Three cheers for me for placing myself into another bitter situation. This is all my fault, it is all my fault; nothing would fix any of it unless time-traveling back to the moment I met you was an option. I am getting exhausted with the serious replies, the quiet bickering, the angry whispers, and the late-night prayers I dedicate to you.