Confessions of: Murder

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I don’t indulge much  in reminiscing about the old times these past few months, but this still holds true. Sometimes it feels like my memory space is too small to catalog everything we say or do to other people or what they say to us, so I end up silently murdering all the other glorious memories of others in haste to provide space for the memories of present, however fleeting it may be.

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