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These archived chats hold me hostage, reluctantly asking me to glare at the old conversations which exists as a sea bed sand castles, delicate and crippling down ready to be devastated into pieces and I’m still stuck in this momentary fiction of thoughts full of rage and vengeance, losing vanity to the extremes pitching voice of the past and the only tangible collateral being pain, me constantly running back to the ghost of you is scary because this will only devour your existence and you no longer seem the same and the realization shook me off.

Maybe I’m still dreaming but this time I wasn’t asleep…

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