You are tired of your heart, explicitly unconscious and uncaring, and it makes the blood become easy, an ache swarming below skin. They look at those sweet white little scars that cradle ill-fated imaginings, they whisper from the hallway: "therapy treatments" or "too fucking fragile".
I love her, God, I do. She's everything for me and without her in my life, I don't know what I would do. But, she's admitted to cheating. Many times. And she does drugs- the list seems to keep growing. Back in March when we first started talking she, by maybe...October?, explained that from March through maybe the summer, she looked at our relationship as... I guess a fling.