STOCKHOLM SYNDROME

 

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‘Babe, are you sure?’ my best friend asked.
I nod back staring at the courthouse.
‘He took you away
Ripped you from us
Babe, are you sure?’ she asked.
My mind flashed back
To, in the beginning, a dark time.
Dark voice whispering coldly,
‘Come with me now!’
Dark eyes glistened,
Sometimes with anger,
Sometimes with a smirk,
But most of all, guilt
Dark eyes shone with guilt
Long slender hands holding me hostage
I was with him for days.
Yes, he broke me
Yes, he bound me
But he also made me love him
‘And no,’ I said firmly when my best friend asked
‘It’s not Stockholm Syndrome’

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