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Some days, I think I’m driven to insanity trying to drown out your voice. Old voicemails I can’t delete, memorized like the lines of a classic. But unlike those movies, our ending was like shattering glass; and the very attempt to clean it up made me bleed for you more and more. Some shards have been impossible to get rid of, as if infused into the ground I walk. I noticed that I somehow manage to cut myself every so often. It’s the thought of you that stings, lingering like a burn, making sure a scar forms. Yet through all of the pain, I still think of you. The pain seems worth it, but the premise is lacking. You’re becoming more of an idea the longer we don’t speak. You could never live up to what I’ve created. Your voice would sound different in person than on those voicemails. You won’t look like you do in those photographs of us. You’re a different person now, and my memory of you is just a memory of someone who doesn’t exist anymore. Maybe that’s what hurts the most…

Things are sweeter when they’re lost. I know—because once I wanted something and got it. It was the only thing I ever wanted badly, Dot, and when I got it it turned to dust in my hand.

 F. Scott FitzgeraldThe Beautiful and Damned (via feellng)