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I hold my breath until my lungs burn because the part of you that wants to be loved is so very, very fucking hard to kill.
“Because if this—” He stops, draws in a breath, and begins again. “If I don’t make it, I want you to know—” He coughs, and in a jagged, deep voice that scrapes softly across my skin, he says, “I want you to know that you are the most beautiful thing in the world, and even if I couldn’t have you, and even though I fucked it up, you were the best thing that ever happened to me.”