Why, when I talk to you, you refuse to listen to me? Why, even when you witness it for yourself, you choose not to believe your eyes? Is it so hard to admit something is wrong or, for that matter, that you're wrong? I know you're not blind, but you choose to be; and it's fine by me.
I promised not to give up, so I won't. I will honour that promise till the very last day. But I will give up on those who don't want to save themselves. I shouldn't be soft. You shouldn't make me a caricature of yourself. I wouldn't let you, anyway.
But I feel so cold inside.
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