Take long showers and scrub your skin raw until it becomes red and their touch has been washed off, their kisses and caresses spiraling down the drain. Say their name over and over again until it becomes distorted and foreign in your mouth. So all thats left are traces of a bitter taste. Wash it down with a glass of wine, or two, or three.
Remove all the sheets and covers, that were once entangled with their legs and embedded with their scent. Clean them. Rip them. Burn them. Buy new ones. Buy a new bed, one where the mattress has yet to conform to their figure, outlining their curves perfectly, and reminding you of all the sleepless nights, spent having conversations with their mind and their body.
Start hating yourself. Because no matter what steps you take, you can never forget them, you don't even really want to.
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