i am falling, i am falling, i am falling. and i know that i have the power to stop myself. i know that this is like a butterfly fearing that every time it goes to sleep, it’ll turn back into a caterpillar. and i’m not eleven anymore. it’s just… it’s hard not to be scared, when every time you look back on your past, all you see is a prison. and when you can’t help but wonder… if maybe you were only ever made to be a broken record. or a history that can’t stop repeating itself. or a body hurled off the edge of a cliff. or just something else. i am falling. i am falling. i am falling. and it turns out that parachutes and false senses of security aren’t actually things that happen in reality. and my brain won’t stop screaming at me. and i am falling, and it’s scary, and it’s confusing and… it’s funny. how you can have studied for this moment a thousand times over, and still not know how to do anything. i. am. falling.
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