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there is a longing to master the act of being so transparent you disappear, so abstract enough you are far from yourself so nothing can hurt you.
everyone who has met you, met a watered down version of you, one you created because you couldn’t handle pain.
you’re in a limbo of figuring out how to exist doing the least harm but is that existing?
she’s the only person who made you cry outside of yourself, and she didn’t ask for forgiveness, she’s selfish too.
this is a thumbprint to the rest of you, and she loves all of you.
