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It will be done soon.

It will be done soon, and it will begin again. Another pocket of time where I fill my words into this page. I don't need words of sympathy. Don't analyze my feelings. I know what I feel, and I tell you as it is.

It will be done soon. I wake up every morning with dread. I can’t believe in hope because I am not full of it. But I must believe in it, even if I don’t fully understand it. It’s something I have to hold on to, even when it feels out of reach.

It will be done soon. I sleep every night thinking of it. I hear what they say, and their voices linger in my mind, turning into her. I hear all my fears come to life. She’s always there when I fall apart, always there when I’m at my weakest. I’m starting to think it’s not just a coincidence, that she is tied to these moments of my undoing.

It will be done soon. The thought repeats in my mind, a constant refrain. It’s what I tell myself when the days feel too long, and the nights too heavy. I keep saying it, hoping that maybe, one day, it will actually be true.

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