And Yet With She

You are a stranger to some women, and a friend to others. A sister, a daughter, a mother, or some other kind of kin.

You enjoy them, love them, care for them, and cheer them on without reservation or irritation.

And yet with she, and only she, can you not breathe without hating. Cannot think without blaming. Cannot exist without finding her very existence antithetical to your own.

The way her eyes glimmer as you glare at her. The way her lips curl into a sneer when you near. The way her every breath steals from your own. Sipping at your life force. Thieving your focus and opportunity — your calm and concentration.

She is your rival. Your enemy. Your nemesis. And until you’ve fought her, that is what she ever shall be.

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