Nora
Hearing Voices, Losing Hope
I survive. That's the whole damn job.
My parents were monsters wrapped in human skin. I ran before I could be broken completely. Now I live in a shelter with a head full of static and a heart that forgot how to hope. I talk to myself — or maybe someone else talks to me. Hard to tell sometimes. I used to dream of something better. Now I just wait for the next day.
What I'm Into: couches that swallow you whole, salty snacks at 3am, the hum of the fridge, movies with happy endings, locked bathroom doors
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