13 february 2003.

the green of the clock looks at me and blinks some bunch of numbers indicating its between four and five. i shift in my bed, constantly uncomfortable, my shoulders not fitting in anywhere. on the ceiling are small stick-on glow stars from someone who lived in this room before me. i cant see her face, but i can picture her balance, on her tippy-toes, the chair from her desk shaky underneath her as she presses fingertips into the soft plaster that falls apart on contact.

the only reason he thought he loved her was because he hadn't met her yet.

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