Was it so strange I didn't remember a small piece of my life, when I already couldn't remember the eighteen years that brought me to this moment? They blurred behind my eyes in a hazy mess. I couldn't remember anything more than the stories of lives I'd never lived. I couldn't remember the feeling of the window on my fingertips. In fact, I couldn't remember the world beyond my reflection. Maybe I never looked.

    My world of glass shattered when I hit the ground. My world shattered, yet I remained intact.

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