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I don’t miss him when I pass the street we used to go.

I miss him more
in all the places
we never got to go.

In the taste of something new
he’ll never ask about.

In the songs he’ll never hear,
even though I know
he would’ve loved them.

I remember him
in every little update
I can’t send anymore.

How the world is shifting.
How I’m changing with it.
How I lost reality
I never lived.

It would be easier
if he only existed in the past.
If missing him
meant sorting through
our finished frames
until it ran out.

But I miss him more
from what was never captured.

On the other side
of the life we almost had,
I still miss us there.

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