I became fluent in waiting, finding meaning in fragments of time and warmth in borrowed sunsets. I poured gently, faithfully, never asking whether the river flowed both ways, only believing that one day it would.
But even the deepest well has its last drop. And when I looked into my own cup, I found not bitterness, only an aching truth: love should not require one heart to keep emptying itself so another never feels thirst.
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