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I’ve spent so much time trying to become who I should be that I lost myself along the way.
it’s survival of the fittest, not everyone will thrive. we’re pushed so far that we go against the instinct to survive.
I am an incomplete masterpiece, full of crossed-out words and changes. no one ever calls the first draft beautiful, and I will never be the final piece.
be grateful that time will heal the wounds but leave the scars. how else will you remember all that you’ve survived?
