So broken, I reach for a teaspoon and a bucket to pick myself up from the floor.
All the same, I'd rather die a slow death each second of every night, or hide in a hospital toilet to cry than to see any harm come to you.
I can't.
Just.
Can't.
I'll be that crazy woman, going to the docks to await the return of her lost love claimed by the sea.
In time, I might get noticed, and I dare not think what might come of it, but I'll be there.
As long as I'm alive and free.
What a waste of our lives.
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