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When he peers into my soul with his piercing eyes, the burn of you resurfaces, and I'm left speechless.

I must learn not to punish him with silence as he is not fully versed in your underlying headfuckery.

He, is a master of fine arts, creatively weaving his threads with good intentions.

You, are everything I despise.

It wasn't always that way.

Being stuck between what is and what was is akin to baring witness to a train wreck with casualties.