September 2017

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October 2017

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November 2017

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December 2017

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tags ☆

navigation ☆

memoirs ☆

he pulls away, but the taste still lingers — as if electricity is dancing in the air, arcing, tracing his name on his lips.

soft. everything is soft, but the heat is sharp, like how a sunbeam could radiate warmly yet blind a man.

"you really think," he whispers, "that i haven't noticed?"