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There's a pit of unsettled feelings in my stomach. Things I've left unsaid, things I will not say... they come and they pile themselves and I feel sick of every new day to come. This is one depressing post after another and why can't I talk about it?
At this rate, even talking hurts like a festering wound.
At this rate, even talking hurts like a festering wound.

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AND IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
WILL ALWAYS
LOVE
YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOU
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BUT I LOVE YOU TOO.
. . . How many times have I said that today?
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I LOST COUNT.
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THE THINGS YOU MAKE ME SAY.
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HUSH YOU LOVE IT.
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I DO. YOU'RE VERY IMPORTANT TO ME.
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SO ARE YOU.
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I'M GLAD, IT WOULD MAKE ME SAD IF THAT WEREN'T THE CASE.
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DON'T BE SILLY ILU.
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HEY, I CAN BE INSECURE. ILU2.
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DON'T BE.
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OKAY. Sleep well, honey.
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YOU NAP TOO SOMETIME.
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I'M GOING TO NAP RIGHT NOW, BECAUSE I'M NOT OBVIOUS. Sweet dreams.
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