I have a love-hate relationship with white garments.

Yes, you guessed it, another metaphor for something, oh my god can I just be straight forward and stop speaking in metaphors? I am turning into Augustus Waters!

When you stained a white shirt, your favourite white shirt, of course, you’ll try to save it! Bleach it, wash it with the strongest detergent, Google tips on how to get rid of the stubborn stain, anything. More often than not, the stain will still be visible. Maybe it will disappear after a few attempts, but did it really? You knew it was there before, and it could possibly get stained again. Would you risk it? Of course, you would, it’s your favourite white shirt. How many times would you get stain on it before you realize maybe you should just get a new white shirt or give up on white shirts completely?

‘Sorry’ is like bleach, it can possibly clean the dirt, but you know what bleach does right? It’s a peroxide. It’s never good. If you think saying ‘sorry’ will wash away the pain, you are wrong. Every single time you say ‘sorry’ with the hopes of ‘cleaning’ it, you will hurt me. I am forever hopeful that it will fix things, but usually it will make things worse. The more you say it, it no longer holds any meaning and you know what, it’s just bleach now.

Oh, how much I dread this. God give me strength.

not your miracle, just a girl
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