With each wash, your scent fades from my bed sheets and I can remember how to live like I did before you ruined me. I smile freely and pleasantly, without a passionate joy. I sulk and dwell, without true despair.
I am halfway there: the painful ache now throbs and I can breathe in this moment.
Each fresh load of laundry cleans the wounds, more forcefully than the last.
Soon I shall be all but free.
Soon I shall be at the laundromat once more, washing another scent from these sheets.
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