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The pain cascaded, reached crescendo, lowered to a murderous hum and shudder, but never left. I could not contain it and had to live within it. I saw through it, worked through it, because I had to, because I thought I still had a purpose.
Like I was two different people. But, in reality, I was a lot of different people, like everybody.
There are worse things than being a little boring. Although not many.
And how much did the world need to change or did it just need to be rid of us?
