This isn’t much, I know. To think, in a year, or perhaps farther down the road still, I will look back on these words, and they will be little reminders of who I am, who I was, and what paths brought me to the places I will come by. Bits and pieces of me, fragments, spilled onto paper. And the days I feel there is no life left in me, I will look back at all the days collected behind me, and remember, surviving is what I do. And it is what I’ve done.

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