He dresses up again trying to fit in with a few people from work. I tried to warn him it wasn’t worth it but when some blonde girl, young, with a tight body, walked by, we forget why we started talking in the first place. I don’t tell him why anymore. I’m too busy figuring out how to write on a daily basis. He wanders off looking tall and handsome. I don’t stop him. When his ego takes him down, he’ll come crawling back with blood everywhere and some new story. It’s cute and the way he looks when he’s balls deep in his writing makes my heart melt. He’s a distraction anyways. I should be focused on writing how my heart beats independently. On how I don’t need a man to complete me. I don’t. I simply crave the kind of love that penetrates my soul. I suppose I…

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