Description
I hate breaking up. That moment of waiting and the count down of when to say the words that have been parading around in my head. The cost of it all. The burying of something so heavy yet it has no mass. I don’t love you and I’m not sure I ever did. And that look of like a sting from a shot. A look of a tortured soldier. Aware of the pain but a master at suppression. I don’t love you I think I still feel them. I still see them. It’s better to just keep it short and kind. And be glad that I never uttered your real name.
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