It's 3:30 a.m. I am up with a baby who's screamed for over an hour now. It's these times that make the loneliness louder.
How I wish things were different.
How I wish things were different.
Somewhere along the way you realize the desire to be perfect is not the accomplishment of that feat. Either that paralyzes you, or you make your peace with it. This is my attempt at peace.
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