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Just don’t ask me to be nice. Nice has nothing to do with
my one saving grace is distraction. It keeps me sane.
“Well, have you even tried again? You can’t just sit around waiting for the new world to take it with you. You have to go out and be part of it—despite your past mistakes.”
is there cowardice in the acknowledgment of fear? Is there cowardice in being glad that you lived?
