one of the things I celebrate in December

every time it’s near my birthday, ever since that year, I celebrate the wrongness of inviting each and every one of you: your names forever engraved now, in my memory, together with everything you did that day and the days after. 

I hate myself for being the source of this curse, and I hope each and every one of you have burned those letters and photos that I painstakingly wrote, printed, and prepared. 


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