I think there is a quiet kind of bravery in finally turning the page. After months of lingering in uncertainty, I suppose it is time to stop making a home out of a moment I can no longer return to. I loved you, and I won't pretend otherwise.
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But perhaps not every story comes with the ending we once imagined. It isn't the first time our paths have parted, and I won't claim that forgetting you comes naturally. Some people simply leave a little ink on the pages, even long after the book has been put away.
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I suppose there's something about spending a day surrounded by little things that make you happy. One minute I'm admiring the prettiest little trinkets, the next I'm busy falling in love with a chocolate ice cream. Needless to say, I had a rather lovely time.
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The maples were being extravagant again, scattering their last little confidences along the pavement.
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