Damage. It’s been months since she left yet you still find yourself thinking about her. You’ve explored and traveled to different countries yet her memories followed. You’ve shared your bed with late night company yet something is still missing. Haunted by her hurtful ways but more haunted by her smile, you’re still fucked up. Its all so repetitive; the sorrowful moaning that loops over and over, the uncomfortable droning sound lurching in the background, yet you find solace in the nostalgia of it all. You’re damaged.
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