She stabbed him with her wicked pretty knife, disrupted his simple life.She's a player, a heartbreaker,and now she breaks alone.

You cannot mistake thisYou cannot reinvent this moment You cannot call this loveIt is so much more

He cared less, so they cared more. He said it was beautiful. I knew he was broken.This was his game.

I miss your silent stature, your avoided days of disaster, your present state of distress.I’m cinnamon, cloves and fire, you are the rested cedarwood of desire.

She had missed him so long now, that the feeling had become a part of her. As each day passed, the missing distanced itself from her heart. One day she woke, and realized the missing was there but the pain was gone. Missing without pain is tolerable. Pain linked to heartache is intolerable.

…..she needed him to know she did not care. She was spirited, tenacious, and full of contempt for him.

It's all mine, it's all sacred.