The art of forgetting is not to forget, but to remember. To remember a soft hand on your cheek, the way an eyelash twitched or brushed against skin. To go back to all the places that pull tenderly at your heart, to trace words written in faded ink on crinkled paper. The art of forgetting is not to forget, but to remember. To remember the hollow echo of that voice, listen to the shadowy whispers of lost laughs. Then hold those memories, fragile, in an open palm. Breathe. Then close them into a protective fist.
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