It seems like I’ve forgotten how to address letter to you. You are no longer the ink that bleeds out of my fingers. You are no longer the first person I think of when something good happens to me. It’s no longer your name I scribble down the back of my notebook. I am no longer looking for you in the people I meet, in the places I go. Half of my ribs are no longer missing. You are no longer the sea The sky, the moon, the sun The air I breathe, everything. LOOKBOOK

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