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Don’t love.
Because the sad, inevitable truth
Is this:
Be it through wars,
Or tears,
Or even death,
Eventually, the flames that keep you warm
When the world is bitterly cold
Will burn out.
Sometimes they take many years to slowly die down.
In other cases,
They are snuffed out, suffocated,
In an instant.
The pain, though purely in your mind,
Will be more excruciating
Than anything you could ever put your body through.
Someone told me that time was the greatest healer.
They lied.
Time does not heal.
Time merely allows you to grow accustomed to agony,
To accept it as part of your daily routine.
Wake up, ache.
Shower, sting.
Breakfast, with added burn, naturally.
New lovers may take that place,
A warm, comforting bandage over a gaping wound.
But they will only ever be a bandage.
Some wounds simply refuse to heal.
Protect yourself.
Don’t love.


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