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One heart react, and I’m yours again.
I don’t need food. I need good morning texts. I don’t need sleep. I need you to leave me on read for exactly four minutes so I can spiral, then reply with a heart so I can breathe again.
But junkies don’t need logic. We need the next hit. The next I miss you . The next fight-makeup-block-unblock-come-over-don’t-leave cycle that tastes like surrender and smells like your hoodie.
Here’s a short piece written in the voice and style suited for a — raw, confessional, and slightly obsessive, with the rhythm of an inner monologue. Title: The Next Fix
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