If I could go back in time to when I wrote sad little poems, I’d punch myself right in the fucking face because it gets worse man. It gets much, much worse and the sooner we realize that, the sooner we can just start dying, and I know. I know- blahblahblah, nobody gives a fuck about your broken heart, but you know something? Most days, I’m not even sure what I’m sad about.
Dan Campbell

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