I don't think you know me anymore, but you still think I'm the same person I was five or six years ago. And to a certain extent, you're correct; I'm still just as quick-witted, broken-hearted, and alone. But that does not account for any of the supposed maturity that comes with being almost an adult, but I don't care about any of that.
This year everybody got the news that they were dying, and everyone was crying. Except for me, but not because I got lucky; it's just because I'm already dead.
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