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February 2019
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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?"
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?"