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“You can’t fix everyone,” she tells me. These words were nothing but an echo of the past. This conversation, full of choked-on words and sticky sobs, had occurred long ago.

“You can’t fix everyone. People are broken. Lives end. Hearts shatter.

Fragments. They all become nothing more than broken pieces and memories.

The world is corrupt. And you can’t make everything whole again. You can sure as hell try, but what happens when you shatter a vase? You can glue back together the big chunks, and it might seem whole, but there’s always these little tiny holes and cracks in between the larger chunks. What about the bits that were pulverized into dust when the vase broke? You can’t glue the powder back on.

And that’s just it: You can try your best to fix what’s been broken, but once it’s been marred and scarred, nothing can be the way it was before.

And that’s just it. That’s just the way things are.”



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