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Neither of us says anything for a while. I’m not sure how to believe any of that.
How to break from the grooves I’ve worn down inside myself from years of thinking I’d never be anything more than a last resort.
I want to be the only thing touching him. I want to be the only thing that ever touches him again.
I would teach my body to regrow my heart each time I gave it to him, over and over and over again. Heart after heart after heart—every one of them his.