"I knew if I lost him, I'd stop caring and become this way. I was right.
But that's okay. I'm alive.
That's what matters.
He was a bad drug. He was like heroin, and I was addicted, so obsessed that I couldn't see how he was damaging me."
YOU ARE READING
After Death
PoetryAfter one piece of you dies, what becomes of the rest? (Sequel to "Torched.")
