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The first 16 years of my life were a test. Pass the test, and I would be allowed to grow up. Maybe even grow old. Failing the test was not an option.

I passed the test. I grew up, and I'm on my way to growing old. Maybe. Another test has been thrown in my path. This test is different. It's not my life I'm fighting for, it's my love. The love I promised him forever and the love he promised me as well. It was a lot easier fighting for my life. With life—there is always hope. With love—there is always doubt.

Hope is easier to fight for. It shines like a beacon and beckons us forward, inching along the ground, clawing up the inclines, scratching and mewling until we fall in tatters at it's base.

Doubt banishes us to the shadows where no light shines to show the way. We still inch along the ground. We still claw up the inclines. We still scratch and mewl until we fall in tatters. But we have no idea where we'll end up.

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The following comments are for "Mortally Wounded 0818"
by nameless

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