Don't know what I expected, really.
I suppose I didn't know how much I'd come to rely on the idea -- that there was something more beyond the pompous-ass ways.
I didn't realize I'd miss it until I looked into his eyes and didn't see it. Until he looked back and didn't see me.
Stupid.
Stupider that I want it . . . one thing he used. One thing
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Who are you?
[If the words were spoken, they would be snapped.]
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Not even that do you answer straight. A thing as simple as that.
Do you spy on me? Am I some sort of cheap entertainment for thieves?
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