Can you keep a secret?
I grew up sick. Let me clarify: I grew up believing that real love stories include a martyr or demand great sacrifice to be worthy. Because of that, I believed it, because I made myself believe it, and I bred the most masochistic of romantic hearts, which resulted in my illness. When I lived this story, my own twisted fairy tale, it was unbeknownst to me at the time because I was young and naïve. I gave into temptation and fed the beating beast, which grew thirstier with every slash, every strike, every blow.
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