I had wished to forget about you and to live more in the present.
For the sense in me had told me over and over again that you and I, we're over.
We're done. And nothing could take you back.
I had written my goodbye lines a thousand time over that I had even memorized it too well.
I had practised it every single day that it had become me myself.
I was supposed to be able to say my farewell dramatically, but beautifully, to the past. To you. To my former happiness.
But they kept coming back.
And the good-bye words had silently transformed into a pray that you'd be alright, circling around floating in the air like an addicting drug.
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