“Your heart. This foolish, beautiful thing. It’s been bruised, hasn’t it? But you still let it tug you forward. What a gift that is. To still wish and dream and want. To find the good. To wear it on your sleeve.”
“It doesn’t feel like a gift. It feels like a curse. Like I haven’t learned my lesson. Like I’m setting myself up for disappointment.”
did someone steal a page from my diary? 🥲🥺💔
— Dec 09, 2025 09:33PM
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