I made something from the stains on my memory.
It's a fragile bit of life that I cannot stand even a glance at. What it tells me is that I have some things to work on.
I have something, right?
That something I have, is that a reason for me? Is it a reason to believe that I have things I can accomplish?
Of course. OF COURSE.
Of course I am the most fantastic thing that could ever walk this earth.
I am the best at everything I do. Everyone likes me so much and there's no reason why I can't get exactly what I want and I'mfucking...I"m fuckinggoodat everything. EVERYTHING. There is no stopping me becauseIhavemorepotentialthantheDeadSea.Iwillmakeyoufloatonandonforeverandyouwon'tforgettheeffectI'vehadonyoubecauseI'mfuckingamazing....I'm amazing.
do a lot.
What was I talking about in the first place again?
A stain. On my memory.
And the things I can take away from those stains...
The things I can take away from those, from myself...
From the stains that are part of myself...
I take away...they are stains.
They are part of me.
They mark me for life.
They are not going to go away.
Why not embrace them?
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