>>510075183
No, you don't understand, man. Tits… they're not just flesh. They're memory. They're home. They're the first place we ever knew warmth, the first place we ever felt peace. They're where you lay your head when the world has beaten the fight out of you, when you have no strength to work, when you are so sad and demoralized, and for a few moments after touching brests, everything makes sense again.

When you touch breasts its like feeling like a boy again when you've grown too tired of being a man. It's the smell of skin, the gentle rise and fall with her breath, the way the world fades when you're pressed against her chest and all that exists is heartbeat and silence.

When I see them cut off, mutilated. It's like seeing a piece of magnificent art ruined, like seeing the mona Lisa covered ripped in shreds. it breaks something inside me. It's like watching a violin smashed by someone who thought it was just firewood. Like seeing someone rip out pages of poetry to scribble nigger graffiti.