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To think that I can keep you out of mine

I’ve been staring at this blank page for a while. No one would’ve known. Much like how no one ever knows how much you affected me. Or how much you still do.

I’ve tried.

I’ve tried to hold in all the pain, all the pleasure; all the misery that is both happy and hateful. I want to touch you, to hear you sing to me, to yell playful obscenities when I need a good kick in the ass.

I’ve gone wild. Really wild. Tearing through everything just to obtain temporary satisfaction.

It’s been almost ten years. Three since I’ve last spoken to you. Even then, we couldn’t contain ourselves. Everything was still there, lying under the debris of the hurricane that took us both. Moving on never really happened. It won’t. What is this? Why is this?

All of the right ones have just been ghosts of you.

You’re out of your mind.

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