Chapter Ninety-Eight

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You make me feel the way poetry does.
Broken but not the kind of broken that needs to be fixed.
I'm the kind of broken that still works.
The machine that's missing a piece and still works like it should.
Like parts of me that are falling apart but weren't needed in the first place.
I am all that is needed. Wether I can be a better me or not.
I have always been enough.

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