I haven't liked myself since you left. And from time to time, I'll find hair on my skin and am convinced it's yours.
Even on the days I feel okay, there is a hole in my stomach uttering "No, it's not." Everything I learned about closure is a fucking lie, I still see you all the time.
And I never thought about my life's worth until I met you, as if you were a determination of my value.
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