11 days, 11 days, 11 days. I'd be lying if I said it gets any easier every year. I'd be lying if I said I am hanging in there. I'd be lying if I said I was ignoring the sadness that accompanies this time of year. I'd be lying if I said each passing year makes me remember the good times and forget what happened that night. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't right on the cusp of a complete breakdown, and even I myself don't understand how I'm holding it together.
I'm not a very good liar.
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