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Dear Lost Boy (pt. 2): An Open Letter

Dear Lost Boy,
It's been a while, hasn't it? I don't even know what to say.
Sometimes the memories come in flashes: good ones, like gentle fingertips running the length of my palm, or bad ones, like the frustrated, angry sparks the flew from your mouth that night across the sea.
Already this letter feels more fragmented than the last. But maybe that's just me.
Every once and a while I sink into this terrifying whirlwind of memories where all I can see is the past, but it's a history that's smothered in a rosy hue. Sometimes I become selectively blind to the hurt, to the sleepless nights, to times I would shake when I knew you couldn't see. It's these times that really scare me---the moments when all I can remember is the way you would hold me close or smile like the world could never have been so big and bright as it was in that second. It scares me to think that someday I'll forget that this rose had its thorns, and it scares me to know that I cou…

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