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I think a lot about death. Does life start at death? Or death at life? I’m not quite sure yet. Sometimes I wish dying wasn’t as prevalent as it is. I wish some people lived forever. I wish my grandmother did. I love her so much, and I miss her every day. I was too young to understand her death, and too young to think of her so lovingly. But as I get older, I just wish she never disappeared.
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I realized recently, my mother is the beginning and the end. What if I suddenly disappeared, and she didn’t matter anymore? Would I be able to live freely? Would I be able to seek validity within myself? Rather than with her? I don’t know.
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It feels so cold, and my breathing is uneven. The pain gets worse as I lie down, and I’m anxious to get up. It feels like I’m stuck in this laid position, and I have to wait for someone to wake me up.
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Hopefully the answer comes soon.
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