My hands shake as shock sets in.

The fragments of your actions buried in my skin. I try giving the pain a name, to take it away.

Seering burn? Sharp stinging? No

Just a dull ache that hints of the nerve damage your fragments have inflicted. The irony is not lost on me; I had defused so many people… I never expected of you to hurt me like this.

My friend, with a concerned look and sympathetic tears, prying the fragments out with a scalpel… Neither of us want to do this… the shrapnell must be removed before its too late.

I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at myself for not seeing your fuse before you detonated in my face. Some of your fragments cut right through me. Some stayed as a sharp reminder.

I am lucky. All your fragments missed arteries. Missed my organs. You did not miss my heart.

I know what true love is now.

It is loving someone even after they tried to rip you apart.

True love is not healthy in this way. So with your fragments removed, I start bandaging the hundreds of wounds. Some need pressure, some need time.

I start rehearsing the story I’ll have to tell my loved ones; why my heart is in this shattered state, why my body is riddled with holes.

What is true love? Giving you another chance even after what you did to me.

I’m giving you a chance to change.

Please change



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