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I confess, regardless of how much I've relaxed, and allowed myself to accept... Trauma has a way of training, and I never know what to do with the excess. I'm afraid of being excess, adding too much to the bill. I make a mountain out of my own hill, hoping, but believing, that you could never learn to love me, still. All of the evidence to the contrary, but I'm painted in a still... Afraid of being excess, to whom, for which, I could ****.
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