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I was supposed to feel better by now. At least that is what I had told myself. But I don’t feel better, not even a little bit. I don’t feel like I can ever get past it. I don’t want to ever get past it. Apparently I can’t heal my own grief. It is too big for me. I feel like a failure. I feel like he has taken something from me that he had no right to take, and that I have allowed it to happen. I feel defeated. I am living for him and I shouldn’t be. But I don’t know how to stop. I am afraid to stop, unable to let it go. I am in love with him. No matter what anybody else says or thinks, these are my feelings. This is what I feel. I know I should not. It doesn’t matter, I do. If I could give it away, take it away, make it so it never was, I would do it in a heartbeat. Rewind the clock and deny the existence of him, of who he is, of what he represents, of what he has done to me. But it is too late. He came back. I let him. And then he broke my heart. And I let him. Something about twice shipwrecked you can’t blame the sea. Right. I just need to feel differently about this. Water under the bridge. Over. Done. Lost. Moving on. Not worth it. Just a man. Just another man.

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