You don't even have a plan, do you?
God has a plan.
And what is that?
Must be cold living out there in the dark, so let me spell it out for you: you made a promise. To Him, to me. You broke your vow.
You broke my fingers, my collarbone, three ribs. You dislocated my jaw.
I was trying to fix you.
Like a window cleaner pissing on a window.
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