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Being over him is like being ontop of the world. Or above it. Perhaps I am the air plane and he is the Earth, I’m soaring 30,000 feet above. It’s been a month and 13 days and since that night he gave away and said all he had to say I’ve been done for good, don’t need him and I could have gave up a long time ago, I never thought it enough to let him go.

Love is like recycling,
It’s thrown out, around, and even in trash buckets.
It’s reused,
And most of all, it can renew itself every time you put it in a press.
Like recycling, Love doens’t end.
It has three arrows, and they never stop.
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