is this called living, or something else?
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please leave me here, because everything that happened; happened here. everything i became has been recorded and recollected in these pages, and one day when they try to place my being beneath the ground and the flowers wilt, the grass withers, and the trees grow old too soon, they will know why. im the elephant in the room, the discarded milk teeth under your pillow, and ive grown to accept that i'm everything inside yourself you hate (even if you cant see it yet). leave before you find me familiar, and begin to crave the beating rhythms of my heart or the bitterness pooling under my tongue. my name is not necessary, nor is where i am from, you can ask me questions but i doubt you would want too. just know, i am not the one you've been looking for, and you will not grow to love me. i have nobody and i am nobody.
you've got a second chance, you could go home.

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