Two pages past yesterday, five-hundred in. Bloody palms and a shifting core. Pacing pacing the scratchy floors with hope and determination. My feet ache from the pressure and my hands crack and bleed. Just tell me you’ll be here every time I ask because I don’t know if I can bare to do this without you. Let me write my pains the best way I know how so that I may have something left. A tree, a field, a babbling brook. A hand gripped tight. Please please just be there no matter what page just be here.
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