[center][h3][color=000000]Just like that[/color] [/h3][/center] [hr][hr] [center][color=000000]“I’m a little fucked up.”[/color] Her words were a [color=000000]sweet[/color] sort of [color=000000]bitter[/color], huffed out in single stressed breath. Three crisp seconds stumbled by, a tear void of color dripping down her cheek; a pained chuckle slipped delicately. A suiting sound for her. [color=000000]“Well, not just a little.”[/color] [/center] [hr][hr] [center]Their conversations had been bitter, toxic in the eyes of those who didn’t understand how it was they loved each other, those who had never felt their love; but [i]he understood.[/i] [color=000000]He understood.[/color] He drank her smiles up like they would vanish without a warning, as if she would someday be a dream that he awoke from. [color=000000]Maybe she was. Maybe.[/color] Just maybe, they were trapped in a fantasy that neither really wanted to leave; because words were bullets and they both were addicted to pulling triggers, falling to their knees in sync with the other because pain was not simply something they could forget. Pain was shared, a mutual link. Because “I love you”s were spoken out of genuine trust and care, guilt drenching every words so deeply that the other could almost drown within it. Guilt earned, because neither was [color=000000]innocent[/color] in the self-deprecating dance they engaged in. But they wouldn’t stop, perhaps couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t, because little lashes and scratches on her sanity were worth it. She was a whole bundle of bad news, ribbons of cruelty wrapped crudely around insecurity and cold attitudes. [color=000000]She was a gift many would not dare to open, but he took her with a smile and a laugh.[/color] She would never feel whole, fixed; she didn’t want to. She didn’t need to be fixed, she was broken and she loved it. She was a cracked valuable that could not be repaired, but he made her [i]forget[/i] she was broken. He made her [color=000000]forget[/color] the negativity she felt, because he gave her something stronger. [color=000000]He gave her love.[/color] Maybe it was a little fucked, maybe it was a little [color=000000]twisted[/color] and [color=000000]torn[/color] at the edges, but she didn’t want perfect. [i][color=000000]She didn’t need perfect. She needed him[/color][/i] She carried out a flawed love with him, and flawed was what [color=000000]she liked.[/color] She valued the scars he left on her heart because they came from him, she valued the bruises of his words because they were not meant. She valued his sweet words, because they were meant for her. She valued his time, because it was limited. It was limited, and he chose to give it to her. [i][color=000000]She valued him[/color][/i] Another can speak of what they think love is, what they think it should be; [i]but they were not her, and they had not gone through what she had. [color=000000]Her life was not a movie for others to spy in. She had love. Genuine love, and she valued it. She was a messed up individual, but she embraced it.[/color][/i] Others wore masks of feigned happiness and feigned ignorance. No one is pure in the world, no one is. She was flawed, as was he. She loved him in a twisted way, and he loved her. Perhaps their love was inches from toxic, not healthy to an individual spared from their pain. But to her it was all she would ever accept. [color=000000]She was happy that way.[/color] [/center] [hr] [center][img]http://gifimage.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/black-aesthetic-gif-2.gif[/img][/center] [hr]