The greatest pieces of her were now exposed. She had nothing more to keep to herself. Nothing more to call her own and she felt that he still wanted more. Heart beating and tears falling from her eyes she held his hand tighter and tighter. She spoke broken words in between gasps of pitiful cries. She needed him to know that there was no place that she would choose to be but the louder she became the further away he drifted and she had nothing but a pacing heart and streaming tears. She had nothing more to call her own, she had given him all of her love and that was still not a enough for him. In the mist of her sorrow, she remembered laying flat on his bare chest one night and catching the rhythm of his perfect heartbeat and understanding that it meant she fit perfectly in his world. Then she realized that the more of herself she exposed the closer they became to their end but she could not stop giving him more. More of what made her real. More of what pieced together her existence. She gave it to him because he seemed to cherish of her what no one else recognized, but when she was ready for him to give back what was given; when she was awaiting reciprocation, he gave her nothing but proposed absence. No definite fulfillment. Nothing but words of what he could not complete. Did he not cherish what was inside of the spirit that kept thriving in a world where obstacles continuously ripped out hearts. Did he not recognize? Was it not understood that as he walked away from a rapidly beating heart and flowing warm tears that there would be a place in time that would lack completion. He left, and he did it with the only thing she had left to give– love. Out loud she wept but on the inside she bided him a safe return to– completion.

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