the second of november, two thousand sixteen

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no matter how long you're gone, the dates that were ours will always sting as they come around each year.

they remind me of what was, and what will never be again.

do i miss you, or do i miss who you were in the past?
have you even really left?
is any of this even real?

an ode to the loveless, these are for you. Where stories live. Discover now