Still unending.

I realize,

The more I talk about him with an unregrettable way,

The more I heal from the inside,

The better I breathe oxygen, rather than breathing sadness.

The memories, feel like highlighted parts of my dusted books.

All that is left, is for me to reach the last page,

And it’s been five years, and I still can’t make myself read the end of this story.

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