But what happens when love ends? Is the resulting pessimism functionally equal to the previous optimism?
Sometimes I think I most miss the music that I've lost; entire albums I can no longer listen to because of the memories they evoke.
The other day I found a CD I'd made for you. Its newfound presence was oppressive. I couldn't bear it. It splintered in my hand; the songs that reminded me of you embedded in my fingers.
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