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Sometimes it feels like everything wasn't true. There is nothing left to remind me of you. Nothing. Not a single breath, not a single memory. May be it should be so. But I guess it shouldn't. Some people are just too good, too ideal not only to leave, but also to be preserved in other people's memories and hearts. But probably I lie, when I say that nothing reminds me of you. When I see dying flowers, I always smile. You were right: it's better to burn out, than to fade away.
