When I was nineteen, I had a lot to learn about boundaries.
There was a dungeon in my house.
I got married too young, at age nineteen, without ever having asked what it might mean to move away from home, to a different country. I didn't ask Greg what he meant when he said he wanted to marry me, and he never clarified. He was from Minnesota. People from Minnesota aren't exactly forthcoming about their emotions, or anything other than farming equipment.
So I moved in with him and his first wife, completing a polyamorous partnership triangle that quickly became two dots on a line as his first wife fell in love with her secondary partner and left. We joked sometimes that she and I had just switched places, since she moved to Canada just as I moved to the United States, and she had fallen in love with one of my oldest friends. So then it was just me and Greg in this three-story wood-floored house with a dungeon under the sloping eaves.
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