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Over time, I realised that I have not recovered from many things. There were times, even when I was still bleeding profusely, I just shook myself up and moved on with my life. It’s not that I did not allow myself to truly feel and deal with the pain, it’s just that I was too used to being strong that I was afraid I would lose the only protective mechanism that I have. I am a soul full of grief, anger, and longing. I am a keeper of everything broken in my life and of those shattered pieces left by all the people who had been in some chapters of my book. Their memories are forever etched inside my heart, laughing, screaming, crying, sometimes calling my name and jarring me awake from my deep slumber. At times, they were too heavy, too scattered for me to hold and keep up with. I am probably the strongest girl you would ever meet, for no one knows how well I hide my weaknesses and wounds; no one would ever guess how damaged I actually was inside. Maybe that’s why the universe gave me endless papers and quills so I could give all the pain somewhere to run, somewhere to exist outside of me, so I can calmly breathe, even if just for a little while. M.
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