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i happened to re-read the farewell letter i wrote for my mum last year and im surprised that i hardly remember what i wrote just months ago.

in it, i made promises about the very things that i end up failing to do. wrote words that i would never otherwise have spoken. a smile tugged at my lips unknowingly. im amused at how contradictory i am, saying how i will not, when in actual fact i am. it's as though with words written, while i sincerely meant them, they felt safer. safer because unlike words spoken, i didnt feel that i was opening up as much as i otherwise would. and sometimes opening up to someone meant opening yourself up to going a bit crazy. and it's in those times when i feel, being alone, is so much easier.

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