Love harder than any pain you’ve felt.

That’s what the famous people said, so it must be true, right?

I hope so…

I’m so scared, when he comes back at night, to check on me in my iron cage, his face is nothing but melted flesh, beady eyes. It scares me, but I love him. I loved him before all our problems started and after.

Even when he pokes and prods me.

Even when he takes my blood.

Even when he injects strange liquids into the inside of my mouth.

I love him, but does he love me?

I think so. I really hope so. Or all this pain would be for nothing.

He kisses me when I cry.

He whispers beautiful poems when he stabs me with needles.

He strokes my shaggy, hair as I lay in chains.

So he _must_ love me, right?

He must.

***

(Honestly, I was going to make it longer, but ehhh. Thanks for reading and have a good day.)