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Famished

I’m starving. Wasting away inch by precious inch, diminishing, fading. The commonly used verbs are not enough— ache, need, want, yearn, long for. They do not cover the depth at which you swim, tugging at my soul. I am already drowning; pull me further under. Oblivion would be a welcome change, a chance to revel in the fantasy of you rather than the constant admonishing self-talk and series of don’ts. If I die while I dream, am I in that world forever?

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