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I am not sorry
I might have felt sorry an hour or two ago, when the blood was still
flowing and I could breathe normally. But now I am lying limp,
paralyzed, staring up at the off-white blankness of the ceiling with
an immeasurable, unbearable hopelessness, and I am not sorry.
I am not sorry to have said goodbye when I gave good thought to
what I said goodbye to. This demon that’s choking me and holding
me down (the pressure in my chest increasing, shriveling my lungs)
is what I said goodbye to. It still has a grip on me, but it will go
away soon.
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