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    The paper felt like it was burning into my fingertips, like it was on fire and it was peeling away at my skin. A hollow feeling expanded in my stomach like a hot air balloon filling up with sweet hot, hot air. I was hollow. Empty. Hollow like a statue and empty like a glass deprived of water. I was nothing. Not after I read her letter. Her letters. The one she unmistakably meant to give to me and the one she wrote to me after she saw. After she saw us

Have you ever been rejected? Have you ever stood in front of the one you love, and just stood there waiting for their answer, their mouth ajar and a distant look in their eyes? It rips you apart. It tears you apart. It's like someone lit a fire in your chest and your heart is the tree's and suddenly the flames spread like wildfire and you're dying, rotting, a slow death and you're waiting for the firemen to come save you; make you feel better - but they never come. Because they don't love you. At least, anymore. And what hurts more than rejection? It hurt's more to know that I hurt her in the process of me trying to gain the love I already had from her. I needed love. I craved it. I needed it after I saw the way she was at a loss of her words. Not in that speechless, tongue tied way like she had been doing the moments I met her, but the speechless where you don't know what to say to let them down easy. To let them down at all. I needed that girl. I needed love, I needed water after the fire wouldn't burn out in my chest.

I needed Parvati's love and I had it all along. I was just too engrossed with myself to see it. 

"J, come on, get on the tour bus, we gotta hit the road.."

The bag in my hand never felt so heavy.

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