I can read the signs like I used to read my homemade runes: death this way comes, but this time I won't cry. I'm tired of your pushes and your pulls. I'm tired of tumbling for you. The grass is never greener; you just see it brown and shriveled anyway. So take your dressed up memories and your talking heads and leave me be. I don't need half a person weighing on me like an elephant. There's nothing in this room anymore.
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