22.

I forfeited any chance before she walked into my life, her fire and flames merely scolding my skin- rather than scorching my insides. I doused that risk without any effort, a second nature without cause, or effect.

So what then of me and my imprint? My lasting scar on my face, hidden or exposed in life?

It isn’t or wasn’t important and I think they all knew. She always knew, such was her beauty – sent evermore to torture my own melancholy anxiety with hints of love and acceptance wrapped in the violence of reality. I despised her only because I loved her so much. And then, when I finally allowed myself to lean into her deeply enough to have my fall cushioned, she left- laughing. Looking back, incomplete, to become another’s great failed conquest, leaving her mark on a jaded existence. Perpetual.

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