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I find beauty and pain when I begin to write again.
Although my thoughts pour out perfectly onto this page, I have come to recognize that only when I am broken, that is when my words flow gently out of my mind.
I sadly have no one to pick up my pieces right now, so here I am. Writing down every little thing that escapes my mind. As if that’ll help put me back together.
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I want to believe that… the dead are not lost to us. That they speak to us… as part of something greater than us - greater than any alien force. And if you and I are powerless now, I want to believe that if we listen, to what’s speaking, it can give us the power to save ourselves. 
           Then we believe the same thing.