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I’m sitting here slowly breathing next to your shirt you left in my bed. While the scent is lovely, it abruptly reminds me—your smell will always follow and haunt me. But I’m trying to get through; I went out again for the first time in the longest time—something I couldn’t bring myself to do. I held the door, she held my hand; it was all picturesque and typical. Maybe eventually I’ll stop mistaking your face for strangers in the streets.



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