Demur.

The raw, uncoated rhythm my tungsten heart beats to when you hurt me. Unsheathed, unwoven, weakened by the effort of desperately trying to be your only one. Your attention is a war I have to sacrifice my happiness for to win.

I feel foolish because pain has finally mastered my pattern, and I'm defenseless. I'm tired, broken from all the qualms gathered over time from trying to find love. Here I am, seated amongst a crowd of familiar strangers gathering what remains of my sadness.

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