Attachment.

You left your notes in my old, hardbound copy of Wuthering Heights.
The pages were withered to yellow fragility, the leather cover had been worn out.
It gathered dust through the year, but every December I diligently reread it,
Revisiting the moors and the cold; the lonesomeness and uncouth passion.
The raw humanity of each individual carved me and moulded my personality.

You borrowed it from me one November and did not return it until January.
That December passed unlike any other, with letters filled with love and warmth.
My tradition had been broken, but I gleefully allowed you to break my monotony.
Until January arrived, and you left me with my book and your absence.
That December, my broken ritual was meant to mend your broken promises.

It had been three years since, when I chanced upon it, hidden by a layer of dust.
I shivered when I recognized the faded leather, my trembling hands reached for it.
I sat on the cold floor, the only source of light was the fire from my fireplace.
My blanket kept me warm while every page I turned sent chills down my spine.
I recognized your script the moment I saw it on the third page of the first chapter.

Fours hours and thirty seven minutes later I had read every word you had written-
In that beautiful, calligraphic handwriting- eight times, until I memorized it.
Sleep evaded me. I spent the remaining hours of the night in deplorable delirium.
You haunted me for eight months, three weeks and five days after that forsaken night.
I looked battered and felt lost, it was dèja vu for my wretched heart, a sour sight I was.

I maffled myself to sleep, quoting your letters and your words from our conversations,
My hands laden with your words, etched into my skin with precise scratches;
My lips were torn apart, covered in dry blood. But my house was immaculate.
You knew how to stop me from destroying myself- nobody else did, not even me.
I fell in love with you again, desperately, pathetically. And it terrified me.
Because I fell in love with your words, which I knew I could never teach myself to unlove.

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