Your words hurt. Probably more than you'll ever realise. The verbal equivalent of death by a thousand cuts. Every sentence, full of bile and venom, cut a little deeper. You couldn't see the scars you caused. I kept them all inside. As hurt as I was, I refused to give you the satisfaction of thinking you'd won.
I carried those scars for longer than I care to remember. For a long time, the memory of you lurking in my mind made me convince myself that I was wrong and that you had won. I was out for the count.
But now more time has passed, and I'm sorry to disappoint you but you never won and you never will win.
Scars heal, time heals old wounds. Call it what you like.
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