I died a thousand times before they buried me. Most of the time those deaths were unnoticed. A little piece of me would break away, lie on the ground, rot. Sometimes I would try to pick it up and just keep going. But, most of the time I would just let it be. I didn't need it any more anyway. I mean, who would it belong to if it didn't belong to me.
My deaths were as meaningless as my life, so what does it matter now. Pick yourself up, keep going. No one is going to save you so you need to save yourself. An endless echo of advice, but now who will listen?
Close it. Let the darkness in. I won't be there to see it.
I died a long time ago.
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