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It’s time to get up. It seems as if it was just yesterday when I was mixing primary colors to ‘discover’ different tones or separating m&m’s to discern the different tastes each color has. Why does the phrase “moving on” spring from pain and heartache? It’s a little bit sick to think that uncountable tears created this smile that only belongs to me.

I’m sitting on a couch that has changed constantly throughout the years, yet it’s the same couch that accompanied me when I spent hours trying to find the perfect conclusion for that essay, or when I cried in fetal position for hours in an attempt to find myself. Little did I know that all that time I was being myself and that’s why it hurt so much.

I trusted, loved, and exposed myself when I wanted to feel fulfilled. I hug, kissed, and ran away when tears followed such actions. I pretended, lie, and hurt when the pain became unbearable. I traveled, searched, and understood when I embraced my path.

What’s next? Who the fuck knows?! I’m not a self-help writer.