Sometimes I think, “I’m going to push her until she breaks,” and it will prove that I destroy things I touch in a terrible, terrible way, and I will have to stop living because I broke something so incredibly special.

And sometimes, I think that means the end.

My story ends here: I am too broken for help. There are other people who need the wolf pack I’ve been occupying. Other people much more worthy. Let them go, good bye.

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