A photograph of Seth and Abby flashes, the sun’s gleam nothing compared to those on their faces. Happy two years. Perhaps I shouldn’t have stopped seeing Sean.
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A photograph of Seth and Abby flashes, the sun’s gleam nothing compared to those on their faces. Happy two years. Perhaps I shouldn’t have stopped seeing Sean.
I can smell the acrid headiness of danger in the disinfectant-laden air. It cloys at my uvula before entering my lungs to catch on my breath.