The Masochist

It still hurts. 

It fades, the memories, the conversations. 

But if I close my eyes, sometimes, I can still hear your voice. 

Talking, smiling, laughing, gently. Carefully.

And I cannot lie. It hurts. Still. To this day. Probably as long as I live.

My mistake was making you matter. 

I'm the masochist, inserting my own blade into my own beating heart, fully aware of the consequences.

I still root for you. I wish you well.


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