The art of losing is a necessary one
Lost memories that are unstitched through time
Each string lost
Until your face is a blur
Emotions are torn apart
From the very fabric of these memories
They are Recycled
And Reused
Into new memories
Where new lovers delight
They are mended again
Neatly stitched within each memory
And a nicely placed red bow called love
When your gentle hands are finished
I realized that the art of losing was necessary.
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