Yet you still value the things you’ve lost the most. Because the
things you’ve lost are still perfect in your head.
They never rusted. They never broke. They are made of the
memories you once
had, which only grow rosier and brighter, day by day. They are
made of the dreams of how wonderful things could have been and must never
suffer the indignity of actually still existing. Of being real. Of
having flaws. Of breaking and deteriorating. Only the things you
no longer have
will always be perfect.