Sometimes I lament the quiet life we share. What use is it to pledge I would kill for him if the opportunity never presents itself? How am I to prove my love if all I have are hypothetical situations? Society condemns our lifestyle choices, yes, but we’re such recluses we rarely give cause to make our transgressions known. Our sins are wasted here, shocking only what good sensibilities have walls or bed sheets. Yet my lover has a wicked tongue; surely if we ever ventured out he’d steer us eventually into trouble. Is it so much to ask for the chance to defend his honor, even if he’s the one baiting for a fight? I wouldn’t mind the feel of cartilage breaking beneath my fist just once, or maybe the vivid smear of a stranger’s blood on my knuckles. It’d be nice to know I can back up my words with a little violence if necessary, that’s all. All I want is to deliver one blow in retaliation to a world that’s landed more than its fair share on us already; just one broken nose or bloodied mouth as evidence of my devotion.