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When the axe came into the forest, the trees said, "The handle is one of us." They didn't fear the blade, because the danger felt familiar. That's how destruction often begins,not from enemies, but from those who look like us, speak like us, and gain our trust. By the time the truth is clear, the damage is already done.
Die with memories, not dreams. Dreams are meant to be chased, not stored for "someday." A life well lived is not measured by what you wished for, but by what you experienced, felt deeply, and turned into memories.
Nothing kills you quite like your mind. Not people, not situations, not fate, but the thoughts you carry in silence. It's the constant replaying of memories, the fear of what might happen, and the regret over what already has. The mind has a way of turning small wounds into deep scars, whispering doubts until they sound like truth. And because that voice feels like your own, you rarely question it. Slowly, without noise or warning, it drains you, not by destroying your body, but by exhausting your peace.
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