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Lying alone, at night, I have to admit how much I miss you. I have to admit that, despite all my protests, I would probably be back with you in a split second, given the opportunity. Hell, I don't even know if you believe that I loved you. I probably always will love you. It just doesn't go away, no matter how much I want it to.

I think that I'm starting to remember it as better than it was. I know I am. Maybe it's just that you're not here, that you're more of a memory than a reality to me now.

Maybe I'm in love with a rose-colored-glasses memory of the real you.

Maybe that's ok.

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