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of all the people I could’ve loved I chose you— the storm with soft eyes the fire with trembling hands   I held you when your world was...

I wish you’d told me before you disappeared into white walls and pills that steal the colour from your voice.   you call it healing— but...

sometimes I feel like Persephone— made for the sunlight, but haunted by the shadows of those I’ve lost.   I laugh with the living, warm...

of all the things I thought might fade your voice was never one of them   we talked like stars who believed the night would never end—...