When I first shot a glance at you, I immediately ran out of fingers counting how many ways a heart can break. I panicked from the onset of these thoughts and the sight of such fractured eyes. Love is a four letter word used much too often. So is hurt. I look at you and wonder if there is a way to soak you with hope. I want to cry. I want to run my hands over your heart, because I am not convinced you exist anymore. I see a body, I see your movements, but there is a rift, a rift between what I’m seeing now and what has died. All I see is what remains, pieces. I’m trying so hard to fight back the tears. I want to run my hands over all of you. I want to tell you that I fear the silence of your heart, because it looks a lot like death. Or is that something you are familiar with? Because you certainly shouldn’t be. I want to touch you until you resurrect. My fingertips tell what the mouth is too afraid to utter. Remember, remember someone once said that there is always tomorrow. Hurt is a four letter word, yes. So is heal.

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