Some sort of fuzzy stare sinking beneath unfolds. The centerpiece wrapped in a mixture of faint purple; with a touch, touch of gold. Through the silent flickers, she is peering over the tableside. It’s protruding out, almost meddlesome. While Danielle, in the other room, breathlessly yawns herself into a wonder of troubles that dash, dash her away
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Comments 1
you sound like sylvia plath, and i love it
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[this inspired me to write, so i'm going to go sit in my chair in my room and do that. with iced tea :3. merher.]
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