His voice chased itself around in my head, rebounding off images of him on the ropes course a month ago, fingers laced with mine, gaze burning into me as his feet wobbled on the rope. That’s what I felt like now. Unsteady, wobbly, hovering above an abyss of the unknown and desperately wishing I had the security of him across from me. That was the scary thing about love. It was unpredictable and unfathomable, and when you were walking a tightrope in its throes, the only thing that mattered was how much you trusted the person walking it with you. In Mark’s absence, the realization of how much
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