verba volant, scripta manent
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What about my heart? You never once stopped to think about how your words and actions affect me. Why are you so fucking selfish? Why do I still fucking love you with every damn fiber of my being? 

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I didn’t want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn’t know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I’d cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.