Letter to the tender

Infants, before you start to bathe yourself, you ought to understand –it is a frightful place, here, its greed will corrupt you, its power will grip your arms. It will eat you without letting you know you’ve been devoured. It will decide for you and make you call it passion. Then reward you, with peace: that starts with retirement and ends in death. Now there is nothing peaceful in compromise. Hear me, dear tenderness: create a path through the foliage of people, rebel against the crowd. Be a crowd all by yourself.

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