Dear fucking Christ. The feeling of heartbreak and love lost for a woman I'm not committed too. She isn't even in the country and I can already feel the slow engulfing pain crawl over me like a black silk sheet sweeping the contours of my body. Turning the warmth of my chest to grey from the inside, out.
This is the ultimate, melancholy and distress. I want her and pine for her, only to know, one day I will clutch at the cave in which my heart resides, the damp, cold and hollow box where she lays.
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