Six was always there, even when I didn’t want him.
But he couldn’t hold me together, and I couldn’t be his penance.
Loss is a phantom limb. No one can see it, but the ache torments you in the night, distracts you during the day, and leaves you fragmented. I’m half a heart, half a soul, and nothing could cure the pieces he’d left behind.
Losing him was safer than loving him. Because the love that kept us coming back again and again was nothing short of madness.
But then, isn’t mad love the most honest?
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