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To you.

I haven’t slept in days. I haven’t been able to think in weeks. I haven’t been happy in months and I haven’t known peace in years.

I’ve known bodies of strangers. I’ve let them know mine. I’ve been places with them. I’ve woken up and slept besides them. I’ve welcomed them and let them go.

I’ve made them laugh, made them cry, made them sad and made them happy. I’ve seen parts of them they wouldn’t let anyone else see.

They didn’t make me happy or sad. I’ve lied and said they bring me joy, while all they bring me is an escape from an aching loneliness.

That’s okay.

I stopped mourning your loss. I’ve stopped looking at your pictures, I actually threw them all away. Every note you wrote me now lies one with the dirt. I deleted every trace that lead me to you.

But right now, at this very moment, I miss you to a point where I don’t think I can’t function. I miss you so much I think it’s tangible, like I’ll somehow be able to call you back home.

I’ve come to realize that it was my destiny to love you and for you to not. It might as well be my purpose to live; to love you beyond inhibitions. To always be yours. To always be happy only with you.

And that’s okay, too.

Whatever you do, wherever you are, I’ll miss you.

I’ll love you.

Always.

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