![]() ![]() It’s a ghost town, this place that haunts me, this place that made me. It’s here that it started and it’s here where I have to end it. ![]() That’s why I’m here, to feed, to grieve, and maybe to cure my sickness. At least that was the case for me.Īll these years later, I’m convinced I willed my story into existence due to my illness. You can’t re-live your own love story because, by the time you’ve realized you’re living it, it’s over. That’s the novelty of fiction versus reality. I gave into temptation and fed that beating beast, which grew thirstier with every slash, every strike, every blow. ![]() When I lived this story, my own twisted fairy tale, it was unbeknownst to me at the time because I was young and naïve. My favorite books, love songs, movies, the ones that resonated with me, have kept me grieving long after I turned the last page, the notes faded out, or the credits rolled.īecause of that, I believed it, because I made myself believe it, and I bred the most masochistic of romantic hearts, which resulted in my illness. ![]()
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