Venting

I go to places already knowing that I am going to see things that will not please me, yet I go. 

It might be that this heartbreak is my only comfort, my only consolation, the only fine line between the good past and beautiful memories and the heart-wrenching present.

As much as I ache, I feel comforted. As much as I feel dead, I feel alive, but broken. 

Or maybe I go because I want to cling to the past. That I don’t wanna forget anything. That the only way to keep me from forgetting, attached to the past and to the flow of memories is when I see the ‘things’ that increase my agony.

It is not that I am not able to forget, it’s just that I don’t want to. 

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