I never gave you aught.

It is funny how love goes sour, it is the sweetness you want to deny. You’d like to believe you never wrote those drippy love poems or sent those sentimental letters. You wish that song you’d written had not been for him. You want to believe you never thought you could die happy in a thunderstorm, struck by lightning, as long as you were with your love. All of the extremity, the warmth, the comfort, the passions, they all look different on the other side of heartbreak.

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