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Last night I re-read my first dozen posts, which were all recordings of memories of my zivug. Such sweet stories. How we met, adventures we had, a perfect kiss, the first touch. I think we had a beautiful love affair (when we were in Israel). I wrote down all the memories so that I could forget them, and sixty days later, I can report that I have. Now when I read the memories, I no longer feel the emotions in quite the same way. The love is still there, but it’s mellowed, tempered by the pain of the Narcissist’s Discard (with