in the center of a room made of windows; casting her angry red light ever-so selectively into the corners she sees fit. The anger is so beautiful, the light is so entrancing. The sun isn't selective, what power does she have to choose who her light reflects off of
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you weren't at school today (duh) so i called to see how you were. and you're not answering me or anything. so fine.
i'll talk to you later. maybe, if you answer.
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