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[uccellieviolini]

'i miss you.' it doesn't matter. your hands are covering my ribcage; you've already left the room. you told me nevada had the highest cremation rate, and i thought about being buried next to you, and then i thought about burning. 'where were you?' your hands are on the hips of some polish woman, you are drunk and awkward on a dance floor. in my

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[nothingisstatik]

I could read your writing all day long.

I loves it.

Write more, k?