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My body slowly deteriorates, although I attempt to appear happy, not always convincing even myself. I wish I was normal, and less worried about my health. Every night I lay awake, wondering if I will see tomorrow. I know that I can help myself by proving somehow that I'm as strong as the Eiffel Tower before I can fight my illness.
Once I returned home with Père-père, I lay on my bed, thinking. Sounds receded and my eyelids felt heavy as bricks. Gradually, I drifted into a deep, peaceful slumber.
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