I've heard it said that white is the absence of memory, the color of can't remember. I didn't know what an utter crock that was until now, when I'm faced with this journal and the endless expanse of white to type on. Because I CAN remember every word written here, every memory. I feel like I'm walking back inside a haunted house with ghosts only
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And I have a secret crush on Anne Bancroft. But who doesn't?
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I'm looking forward to the longer versions of what you're up to/have been doing!
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I will absolutely pony up a longer update once I get back into the LJ swing of things again. For now, I've got a lot of flist reading to do!
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