You always felt cold. It was refreshing, really, yet scarring. It reminded you of 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵. Sometimes it felt like something was in your throat, begging to be let out. But you couldn't care less. You were gonna start over. And you were gonna be the person you wanted to be and be happy. You'd get better and move on. You wouldn't care about the s̵̡̀͛̋̍͑͊̔ṭ̴̉̈́ͅơ̸̙̫̟̟͙̩̺͊́n̴̢̠̗̳̲̹̥͇̖̄̅͘ͅę̴̡̠̪̙̮̭͗̒͒́͂ ̸̰̩̠̩̝͈̪̄t̵̢̙̘̖̦̲͂̄͊̈́͘̕̕h̸̢̢̡̲̲̭͇͔̘̑̏͘a̶̝̹̗̹̺͊́͒̊̓͆̏̽t̸̮̂͐͋̉̑͜͝ ̷̭̈̎h̷̬͍̋̑̑̕å̴̛͈̜͍̗̭̫̲̊̂͗̍͋̐̽͗d̸̼͇̓̊͆̎̑ ̵̬̟̜͖͉̖̱̙̀̽̏̋̏"̸̙͕͓̘̻̬̇̓͝ͅ(̸̛͕̜̂͘Y̴̯̬̥͖̿/̵̡̫̫̮̻̗̘̹͉́̋̏̔n̵̢̡̛̮͕̼̤̻͕̺̏́͋͐͊)̵̳͕̲̖̱͉͖͕̍͛̑̃̎ ̶̫͓̆͊̏̍͌͋̀͘͜Ţ̸͖̲̺̣̯͙͉̻̮̏͝͝ȩ̷̰̼̖͑̇̀͝n̶͕͔͒̇̓͂̏͑̕͝k̴̛̟̽̀̏̑õ̶̢̨̧̳̱͇̤̘̤͊̄͛̀̅)̵̪͋̑̋͋"̸̡̡̤̥̦̠͖̐̿͝ ̵͚̝̠̭̝̠͊̉̍͌̃̊̑͜c̶͕̰͔͍͇͐̀̓̚ͅḁ̷̝̇̔̈́̚r̶̘͈͎̩͍̘̟̖̰͈̊͌̄̉͒̆̾v̴͓̂e̶͍͖̝͈̻͎͈͚̒͆̓̌̀̚̚͠d̸̥̞̅̌͒̿͝ ̶̱͙͈͆͑̿̿͆͗͐̀̕͝ī̵̟̠̺̌̋̋͊͗̂̑͝n̷͓̺̦̭̠̊̏͘ṯ̴̤͓̠͛̃ơ̴̢̜̯̲͍̱̺̬̗̻̅̀̑ ̷̫̟͍̎̌̈́̓̏̈́͑͌͛i̷̡͘t̶̥̩̳̫͕͎͐͆͌̄̑̆̎͊̀͝ ̴̻̼̜͈̜̽͋̈́͠o̸̡̧͈̦͚̝͉̹̍̌̀͑̽̌̔͝n̴͍͇͔̆̿͊ ̸̧̹̲̞͕̪̜̈́̆͜͜t̴̨͓̪̙̭̮̫̦̐́̾̓͒͂h̴͇̬̭͔̠̄͊̏̓̓e̴̖͈͕͍̍ ̶̺̩̲̲͚̲̆̇̊̒̇̇̈́͋ȏ̷͙̽̕͝t̶͔̯́͊͒̍͊̐̓h̶̛̪̲̜͖̩̰͋̓̄͑̇͗e̶̗̱͌̇͆͗̔̈͋̈́r̷̨̞͔̀̅̃̔͜͠ ̴̢͔͚͕͊s̶̱̬͈̩̠͎̫͈͍̙͌ī̸̬̘̭͉̫͔̤͕̪d̷̡̫͖̖̥͈̮͛̃͛̅́͘͘e̷͇̝̟̿͌̌̉͘͠ ̵̢͙̯͙̪̩̺̓̒̑̄̆͆̍̐ȏ̵̗̮͈͖͇͐̏̀̎̿͋̏͛f̵̨̠̳̼̂̄̈́̉̚̚ ̵̘͖̪̱̤͈͚̙͔̿̂̅͗̿̚͠t̴̢̫̘͎̤̝̾́̒̑̄͆̕h̸̙̯͊̿͂̕͘e̴̤̝͉̥̭͊̎́͂͜ ̴̠͕̺͎͒͠