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And I'm looking for the right words

to convey the message we bring.


She had always known a story would come of her experiences with that curious boy. In fact she had started one, once, a while back. She suspected it was sitting somewhere in her room, though its precise whereabouts were unknown. Probably suffocating beneath layers of discarded memories. She wasn't too perturbed, it was garbage now anyways. Written in a tongue of sickly hopefulness, rendered obsolete.

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