Dear Reader,
let me tell you what it is to not need the love of a man,
to hear the wind scream your name from a great height,
to be warmed by hot, summer sun,
to be held in your own arms,
the ones Great Mother gave you.

Reader,
let me tell you what it is to not need the touch of another,
to have rain sweat upon your brow and free your hair,
to feel gentle grass swaying up your legs,
to have the wind send fine touches between you and your clothes.

Dear Reader,
let me tell you what it is to be free,
to love beauty alone and for yourself as inky dusk falls around you,
to despise ugliness as an oil slick spilling darkly over pavement,
to feel the oppressive squeezing of your chest at the edge of the vast ocean. 

Reader, when you know these things
we can begin.