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The sensitive suffer more; but they love more, and dream more.
— Augusto Cury
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📍las vegas, nv, us
mid - twenties, scrolling to find magic and to transform.
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The sensitive suffer more; but they love more, and dream more.
— Augusto Cury
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“He used to tell stories about his ‘odd upbringing.’ His famous line was: ‘If you drove a car through a trailer park with a $20 bill on the bumper, my whole family would chase after it.’ But it was always a joke. He never spoke of it as something painful. I think he was emotionally stunted like a lot of men of his generation, he never shined a light on the darkness. He buried himself in his work. He’d be at the office every weekend. We should have been spending that time together, but it was always: ‘Once I finish this paper.’ Or ‘Once I grade these tests.’ But when he was on, he was on. When I look at old pictures, we’re always right next to each other. And he always had a hand on me. He wasn’t shy about expressing his emotions. Except for the dark parts of him. One afternoon I found him sobbing on the back porch. He’d just gotten off the phone with his sister, and she told him that she’d been abused by their father. Mark only had one question: ‘Was I home at the time?’ And when she told him ‘yes,’ something broke inside of him. He had only been a child, but still he blamed himself. His drinking became more frequent. He spent a lot of time staring into the distance. But whenever I asked him about it, he’d say: ‘I’m thinking about this paper.’ Or something along those lines. We all have parts of us that we don’t let anyone see. That’s one of the helpful things the police detective told me after they discovered his body. Am I frustrated with him? Of course I am. We were together for forty years. I deserved a conversation, that he was in a bad place. I cared about him more than anyone else in the world. Was I not even worth a good-bye? But I’m not going to turn into a rage-filled shell of who I used to be. Because that would be the second tragedy of this. Whenever I’m feeling overwhelmed with anger, I just think of that eleven-year old boy. And I feel so sad for him. He’d been through so much and couldn’t understand his life. One morning Mark came out of the bathroom. It was a few years before his death, and he had tears in his eyes. ‘I’ll never shave my face,’ he told me. When I asked him why, he said: ‘Because then I’ll look just like him.’”
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I aspire to be a woman who loves to wakes up early in the morning and loves what she does for a living everyday. Travels often, spiritually secured, and financially stable.