My heart hurts, I forgot how it is to feel so miserable. Forgot? No. Repressed. In little more than months, time and time again, I have lost you. Three marks on a heart, thought to be made of stone. Yet each mark carved in as though it had been there from the start. And more to come.
You want to think you can live forever, but then you remember, "you can't".
Three marks on a heart of stone. Even stone can bleed.
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