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I am broken. I am fragile. I'm a glass figure resting on the mantelpiece. I'm a porcelain doll waiting for the tiny crack to finally open up. I hold on for as long as I can, keeping every shard of myself together, every ruined, fractured memory together. Stringy glue and weak tape join everything they can, yet leave gaps where I question what happened then. How? How did I end up so destroyed? Where did I lose that part of myself? Can I trace it back to my manufacturer, the one's who made me so delicate in the first place?

Or is it my fault?

Is it my fault for leaving where I'm supposed to be? Does everything I try to do turn out to be a ruin, another minute of my useless life thrown out of the window? Is it wrong of me to forget who I am meant to be, to long to run away from what was built for me? What if... what if I want to be someone else? But that's the thing. I already am someone else. I hide behind a mask every day, resenting who I am and what I have become. If only you could see the emotional volcano bubbling inside of me, getting ready to explode at any point. It's surprising how a volcano can tell the time. Or at least, mine does. It hangs on until I get home, where nobody can see me. Then... tears. Tears everywhere. Waterfalls of poisonous emotions roll down my cheeks like acid, eating away at me, burning my skin. The mask peels off, dragging me with it. Before long, I'll be nothing. Just a bunch of useless body parts. I don't know who I am anymore.

There is one thing that can hold me together.

Her. Sophie. Those beautiful brown and gold eyes that I can't forget. The kind smile she gives me when I have no hope, when I need something to hold on to. The sweet words of forgiveness when I do something stupid... again. Those are the things that seal the cracks... at least for now. Her hand resting on mine to comfort me. The fingers curling in my palm when she needs comforting. Her grip squeezing tighter when I need help. The grip is slipping. Her fingers are slowly moving away, her gaze drifting somewhere else, her head turning slightly as each day passes. Hold on. Please.

I am broken. Fix me Foster, you're my only hope.

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