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The biggest problem with your sorrys is they always come in bunches and at my expense.
He might not have known what that passion was, but he certainly knew what it wasn’t.
He wanted attention, but not that way. He wanted to be held, but not that way. He wanted to be loved, but not that way.
Geraldine had turned him into the saddest kind of damaged goods. The kind that’s too fucked-up to realize it. When horror isn’t quite horror anymore, it’s just normal. And when awful isn’t quite awful anymore, it’s just life.
