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I know that love doesn’t exist. It’s a construct, it’s built and manipulated, a tactic used to make naïve women like me fall for men with bad intentions.
Snapdragons. My favorite flower, in part because when they die, they look like skulls. They are bright and beautiful but slowly shrivel to shells of themselves in the wrong conditions.
I’d walk through the fires of Hell and kill every demon who stopped me from getting back to you. I’d gather all the stars in the night sky just to prove to you your light shines brighter to me than they ever will.

