It's funny how we were—or maybe just I was—so intertwined with devastation. And it's funnier still, how I continue to believe that you could've loved me anyways.
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Like a dent in the gums from a lost tooth, and the tongue keeps lingering over it again and again.
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I sent you a photo, and you told me that you appreciated the fact of it once having existed, and that there was still beauty in its destroyed remnants.
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