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what it’s not

Her fingers trace the lines on his skin, each graze a silent prayer for it to sink into his skin so deeply she becomes a part of the ink.

She hopes when he looks at his own skin all he sees is her. When his eyes find those marks, she hopes all he can feel are her fingers over them.

No one ever told her it’s okay to be alone.

Her breath clings to her throat and she doesn’t realize she’s stopped breathing. That exhale comes and makes her heart race and she swears it’s him.

No one ever told her she doesn’t need anyone.

Her own arms find their way around her and she can feel him missing from her. Words press against her lips although she knows she doesn’t know what they mean.

Because how can this be love when it makes you fear the empty space he’s not in?

Yet still they beg for their release.

No one ever taught her what love is.

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