There are three events that have haunted me for years. Not weeks. Not months. Years. Some of the memories come in fragments, like a flickering film reel, unreliable and frayed. Others come back with brutal clarity, sharp enough to cut through the quiet moments of my day. But no matter how they arrive, one thing has always remained the same: they come back. Every damn day. Not once have I made it through twenty-four hours without one of them clawing its way into my thoughts. They're stitched into the fabric of who I am now as unwanted visitors, but ones I've learned to live with, like scars you forget are there until someone touches them.
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