A hundred words

She was my first love; he was my second. Both alike and different, I loved them; hot and cold, I loved them; through anger and fear, I loved them.

Seeing them together was a knife in my heart, in my head, in my hand. Seeing them together drew me to the apartment, with the spare key I had kept; up the stairs and into the bedroom. Seeing them together, I saw nothing else.

The blood was my release. The blood was healing, nourishing, seeping into my skin. All their blood, to ease my pain.

And I would never love again.

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