"I don’t want to feel this way anymore," she told me, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. "I don't want this version of life – I don’t want to be this version of me."
"I love this version of you," I told her, unsure of what else there was to say. I couldn't tell her not to feel the way she did. All I could do was reassure her. "I love all your versions."
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