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“I want you to remember who owns you here. I want you to remember that I can do whatever I want to you, whenever I want to. Say it. Tell me it’s true.”
Nobody tells you that grief is like living two lives, one where you’re forced to move on and go day by day living, and the other where your heart bleeds with every thump. A wound that will never heal.
As fucked up as it is, she is my missing piece. The calm to my storm, the virtue to my wickedness.
