So, there was this house-- a house not unlike the one featured in House of Leaves whose inner proportions didn't seem to match the outer ones. I can't recall how I came to be in that house or if it was even mine. However, there I was, touring the place, a freshly made whiskey sour in my hand. After venturing through room after impossibly large room
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I find that when I'm going through a really hard time, my dreams become more vivid and strangely comforting. I like the idea of capturing dreams and being able to play them back! But I think they're wild things that we'll never be able to tame, and it's probably best that way.
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Yours is expectionally creepy.
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