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Night

She clutched the crumbling paper in her hand. The writing long faded, the words indelible. Too painful to be called nostalgia, yet not enough to be called pain itself. They were remnants of regret, companions when all else slumbered, it was what the night would give her, till the day she surrendered herself to it.

thegirlwithbluehair

@thegirlwithbluehair

Someday, you will be loved.

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