“Do you love her?” “I trust her! I respect her!” Both of those blows land, sending me spiraling into unimaginable hurt. But his truth is so clear, the part he left out, and it’s the only comfort I can take. “But you don’t love her.” “I’m with her. End of.” “Not end of. You can talk in absolutes all you want, but your hold is still as tight as it was. I feel it. Every single fucking day, I feel it. You haven’t let me go no more than I have you. I don’t want your forgiveness because you will never have mine. But I’m yours. Whatever parts of my heart they claimed they keep, they have their place
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