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Sep 2019
until it hurts. Until you’ve put your
your back into it that you can’t bend any
more. Until you’ve stayed up so late with
it your eyes are blood-shot and you’re

sore. Until you want to **** it because
it’s killing you. Until you hate it so much
that you love it. Or give nothing. Because it
won’t mean a thing if you do.
sandra wyllie
Written by
sandra wyllie  56/F
(56/F)   
61
 
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