Phantom Limb

She walks into his life like October Rain- soothing, cooling, unexpected. She glides in, confident- her footsteps syncopated with his heartbeat- exactly aware of the effect she has on him. And he lets her.

He lets her, again and again, as if a masochist- as if enjoying the wreck she leaves in her wake every time. He lets her get away with it, now for the fifth time, hoping for the better- hoping she’s changed. He hopes she wouldn’t claw out his flesh, and rip apart his friends’ hearts. Because she’s a heartbreaker. And he lets her break hearts.

She breaks heart, because that’s all she knows. She knows the attention pain receives. She knows what she’s playing at, but she cares. Not about anybody else, but she cares about him. She likes that he lets her in, and that he understands. She likes that he doesn’t judge her for the hearts she’s broken. She likes that his is not one of the hearts she’s broken.

He cares. He cares about his friends-all of them. He understands that she’s played with and thrown away many of his friends’ hearts, as if toys. He understands that their friendship means the ripping apart of many ties he’s tried to make over his life. But he is also terrified. He’s terrified that nobody else would want to take that leap with him. He’s terrified that he’ll forever stay in the zone. He’s scared that she’s going to be the only one for him in the end, because she’s the only one to have come back after leaving.

Chaos ensued as she comes back into all their lives. A cohort with pending friend request from the one whose effect on each of them is worse than a train-wreck. Going back is not an option. Scratching out healing wounds is not an option. Moving on is not an option, because there’s no pain greater than a phantom limb.

So while he trusts her till she breaks his heart, and she pushes it harder till he shuts her out, completely once and for all, they will hold their breaths and continue playing throwball with each of their trusting thresholds till they break apart, yet again.

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About TheBlackWallflower

I'm just your average unique person. I love to read and write (no surprises there, eh?) and think a lot. I adore Rowling and think Harry Potter should be a religion. I also hate pink. I love fluff generally because it makes me feel intelligent and I love poetry because it makes me feel different. (yes, references.) I'm married to Sirius Black. So I sign myself as The Bitch alarmingly often. Oh, and I love Mr. Darcy. And Jo Longo. And Chandler Bing. And Sherlock. (Yes, I'm a fantard.) And in case you want to drop in a good, or a critical word, feel free to email me: theblackwallflower@gmail.com OR, follow me on Twitter: @WallflowerBlack Enough with the babble. OkBye. View all posts by TheBlackWallflower

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