Every single day, for the past 179 days, I have wished with all my heart that Zavier was here. I am tired of the hurt that doesn't go away. I am tired of the tears that come as they please. More and more, it seems I am standing still.
I keep hearing about how I have to work through this. What does that even mean?
I used to run so I'd have time to think. Now, I workout so I won't think. A nervous breakdown of some sort is starting to look somewhat appealing. I'm kidding...kind of.
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