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After we broke up, I started drinking. I started smoking and my hands stopped shaking for you. Instead they shook from all the sh*t I inhaled, for once it wasn't about you anymore.
My mother kicked me out three days after you left. I took her car, drove two hours and drank myself numb but even then, you were the only thing I could think about. My mother called me twenty five times and I didn't pick up once, the only voice I wanted to hear was yours. I kept my phone beside me the whole night, I got out of the car and laid on the concrete floor, tried to not think of you. I wanted to call you so f*cking bad, so I got up, got into the car, left my phone on the concrete and drove in reverse, smashed it into tiny little pieces because I know nothing has changed. You still haven't learned how to love me and I still haven't learned how to forget about it.
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