At some point, even the greatest misery begins to fade. Life, or what passes for life, plods on in it's own unending weary footsteps, and somehow we plod along with it, if we stay lucky.
She was broken, I think it__ because she loved too much and she was always blind to the fact that love too is sometimes broken.
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She was broken, I think it__ because she loved too much and she was always blind to the fact that love too is sometimes broken.
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