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Mar 2021
It’s a twisting in my chest, an ache. I feel the absence on my skin, I feel it. I yearn. For something that very may well be nonexistent. And yet I cannot stop hoping. But the hope kills me. The ache is still throbbing. Aching. Aching.

I yearn.

It hurts to yearn.
Written by
Em Becker
98
 
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