Tuesday, July 22, 2014


I am still in love with a memory. 
I am in love with an illusion of the past. 
Its destruction is impossible, it is a part of me. 
I mourn its death, it miss its comfort and cuddles.
To let go, to lose it, is to find peace. 
To hold it tightly, 
is to obsess 
be addicted to a thing already gone--wasting myself away on nothing...
what is this loss I feel?
what is this misery?

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