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Under your iron grip, my bleeding heart

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 One day, true love will find you. Like a rose petal falling in the wind, landing gently in your skin; like a rock tied to your stomach, sinking you deep within the ocean; like a slap, a punch that connects knuckles with cheek, jaw, stomach; Like a bullet to the head, splattering you and exposing your vulnerability to the open air. It will make you sigh, smile, laugh, cry, scream, bleed. It will make you fly, it will make you hurt. 

 No matter how, true love will find you. It can stay with you, protect you from the cold or clutch your neck. It can burrow deep within you, slither between your ribs and wrap around your heart, warming it or clutching it so tight it makes your chest burn. It will fester and corrode in its new home, extending its tendrils and fusing with your now rotten core. 

 Don't let true love go. Catch it between your palms, be the ring around its finger, the rope rubbing its skin raw, the chain that does not give up. No matter what anyone says, no matter what they all think they know, what they think they see and hear, keep its eyes on you. It’s ears filled with your voice, until nothing else exists to it but you. 

 It doesn't matter if it's so tight it can't move, can't breathe, can't think. Because how dare it think it can leave you in this state, torn open with a half heart beating in rhythm with its stolen other half, bleeding out every second it goes on without it. How dare it leave you in withdrawal, your entire being frayed like an exposed wire, skin flayed from held back touches, ears ringing from unspoken words, tongue heavy and biten out, lips raw from not being kissed.

 How dare it make you feel such raw passion and devotion, and then act like its nothing. Like you aren't still feeling the ache of its form close to you, tender in its absence. How dare it search for you, when it didn't plan to stay? But that can’t be, it will stay. It has to.

 So I ask you, child: How far will you go to be their true love?