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Unsuccessful in fitfull attempts to dose, she opens blood-shot windows to a sleep-deprived soul, ensued first by weary pain and then my anger. From a distance much closer than she's perhaps ever been to him emotionally, untainted words of adoration and longing haunt her line of vision, love letters serving only to remind her their words should have dissolved away. Tempted to tear them from their permanance, effort is required to gently removed their tacks and even more not to employ such weapons to etch warped release. Reality never hurt when it was pleasant, slipping the papers into hiding, she wonders if it ever was.
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