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Summary
Always, Emily kisses her with a touch of desperation. Sue doesn’t mind it; prefers it, actually. That’s what their love is, she thinks. An intense love clawing at their ribcage to break free and consume not only them, but the people who’ve spread doubt and religion and hate about people simply loving each other regardless of physical anatomy. She thinks this love replicas the one Dickinson bled onto pages and pages of paper.