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The first time I saw Anya I was shirtless and holding an axe.It was June, the weather balmy and Anya was beautiful, but that didn't matter because I was drowning in my own grief.Anya wasn't meant to be my saviour.I wasn't meant to be hers.A perfect summer, an idyllic island, a stream of stolen nights.All bandaids on an open wound.If we were going to live again, she deserved more than the fractured shards of the broken creature I'd become.She deserved love.
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