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1571 miles away or still at home, when your heart breaks, the hurt shows in your eyes and you end up at some god forsaken cheap bar at the other side of town, drunk on sorrow and pain, lock yourself up in the washroom and scream so loudly that no one can hear you. You cry the whole way back in the cab, just sitting there looking at the city pass by , not thinking, just feeling the hollow in your chest and letting the tears run across your face. People don’t matter then, you don’t care how it looks, you are done being brave. Heart breaks are tricky affairs. Never again.

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Author: pecsbowen

reader.philosopher.writer

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