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Back Pocket

It's been five years since I forgave you for ripping my heart out. Some wounds never heal. You carry my heart still, in your back pocket, unaware that as long as it's still there it keeps me from moving on. And since my heart has been taken, it leads to my breaking a heart or two along the way. It's too late to wish for a second chance, I know this. But hell can still hope, I suppose.

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