something precious

It wasn't the goodbye that killed me, but the interminable silence that followed.

I'd used to believe that true love was all about letting go, of both myself and the need to possess. It was the possessiveness that had killed all the other loves, or so I'd thought; that desire to cage up the things that made me happy. It was only when I'd realized that by allowing total freedom did the heart feel comfortable enough to stay.

That was, of course, until she didn't want to stay any longer, and flew away. Then I'd regretted leaving the locks undone in the same way that someone who comes home to find their house ransacked, all because they trusted the neighborhood enough to leave the windows open.


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