I've been going through some of the stuff I have left of her. The memories are rising to the surface like dead corpses in a still lake.
This darkness slips out of each and every single photo of hers. I want to tear them all apart. I want to burn them. I want to throw them into the ocean and never look back.
But I'd regret it later, wouldn't I?
Why do these memories have to resurface now, at all times? It always seems to hit me at the weakest of times. These dreams, these memories, these thoughts.
I ran away from the pain. I ran away from the misery. And now it's catching back up with me.
I can shoot at it as many times that I want, but that'll never stop it from devouring me whole.
The nightmares and dreams are bleeding into reality.
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