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Crazy little thing called love

Eight Months

Eight months ago, you told me you could not be completely happy, or sad, as you felt something that was best described as an emptiness. You told me that somehow, you had gone numb.

I told you I would give anything to be like that. To switch off my heart if needed, or to have no heart at all. Any way would be good for me, I said, as long as I could feel nothing at all.

You said it wasn’t a good idea.

I insisted it was. You kept saying it wasn’t. We finally came to a halt by laughing it off.

Now, eight months later, I still find my stomach lurches when something about you comes up. Like when you suddenly turned up in front of me on my birthday, carrying a paper bag with a little teddy bear in it, saying ‘happy birthday‘ while flashing your cheerful grin. Ten seconds before that, I had told my friend that I was pretty sure that you wouldn’t remember it was my birthday.

And suddenly it hit me, that after eight months, I still wish for no heart when it comes to you.

P.S. I will take a good care of him.

P.P.S. Thank you for remembering.

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