Let me warn you against tragic love so you might do your best to avoid it. Where do I begin? There is no beginning nor end, only middle; swirling, intoxicating, vigorous middle. Tragic love forces itself upon you. It is the thickness of breath that seeps inside the still of night, delving deeper and pushing faster toward your subconsciousness, it plots to rip you from the inside out. There is no escaping, no peace of mind. Haunting you in your dreams, it strips you of comfort and sight. It fools you with thoughts of pleasantry before it violates your judgment and takes prisoner your emotions. It squeezes its way inside your brain, forcing control of every last nerve. Soon, each inch of your day is breached and you await the cold, long nights spent alone. You do not want it, you do not wish it well nor bid it remain. Nothing in your power can get rid of it. Tragic love forces itself upon you and when it is finished it leaves the way it came.
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