I am everything about love that makes it hurt. I am the cheater at her lovers doorstep. I am an empty bed when your heart is nothing, but full of me. I am the butterflies that induce nausea. I am sweaty palms and stuttered words. I am the idea of infidelity twisting your imagination around my finger. I am a come hither stare and a promise of nothing. I am the ache and I am every tear, escaping, to be alone. I am lost and you will never find me. Hold me and I am only abstract. I am at a loss for words.
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very good
do u write urself?