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I mean, she did give birth to me. Or at least that's what she tells me when she wakes me up early on my birthday, even if I'm far enough away yemen that yemen she has to wake me with a phone call, to tell me about the pain she went through. And she wouldn't lie to me. I mean, I've lied to her. Hundreds of times, but I'm the child in this yemen relationship, the lying child in the relationship, and not the adult, the honest adult. In this relationship. Where was this going? Oh, fuck, I don't want to read that. Oh, but wait. I was going to talk about the people I lost, which is hard to talk about, because I've sat so long with that piece of paper with their names on it, and with a pen in my hand, too, that I've completely doodled all over their names, and some of them you can hardly see. Most of them are people who have forgotten all about me by now.
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