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Ever since there has been a Little Red Riding Hood, there has also been a wolf hunting her. Wolves cannot get past our red armor unless they disguise themselves. So they do so with glaring ease: they disguise their big, hungry eyes with eyes of soulful empathy. They cover their gaping mouths with words so sweet and slick they taste like sugar coated candy. They mask their fangs with promises for the future.
They devour us with their disguises, each one crafted masterfully to ensnare and charm us. If we want a long-lasting partnership, they pretend they are searching for the love of their lives, all while their real partners pine away for them at home. If we want a fairy-tale romance, they bring out the glass slippers, hoping we won’t notice the precarious glass houses upon which their lies are built. If we want the ravishing allure of a lover, they seduce us and abandon us. Their touch is heroin and poison, a drug they know we won’t want to detox from.