I don't think I miss things like other people do.
I like my life now, a lot.
I love the friends that fill my head with perfect memories.
Maybe I'm careless,
maybe I am selfish,
I think I can't hold on to the friends who cared-less and let go of me for their own selfish reasons.
I may have loved you once but there's this thing about me
I like anything discarded to stay that way, even if you discard me.
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