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I flopped back on the bed, sweat sticking the sheets to my skin, and stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t just the ache down there—it was the weight of it all, the pointless loop of wanting and failing. Like my own wiring had shorted out, leaving me half-alive, a machine that wouldn’t finish its job. I thought about the window, four stories up. The pavement below didn’t care if I could ♥♥♥ or not. It’d be quick, at least. Cleaner than this slow rot of frustration.
I didn’t jump. Not yet. But the thought sat there, heavy as a stone, whispering that maybe tomorrow I’d be tired enough to listen.
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░░░░ThisGuy░░░
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gay