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WinterAlright. So the title isn't really what it is, right? Maybe I'm contradicting this story just a tiny bit, but it won't be the end of the world. I promise. It's not winter.Winter
We can't sleep for days thinking about it. We want it so bad, so damn bad. End.Of.School. Those three words make a grade-two-er shiver with delight. Those three words make a senior's face go numb. Those three words can make any person's heart twitch and twirl and spin all around. We become struggling pawns to the snappy and quick word: "summer" All we think of is the beach, the sun, the pool, the


Read this if you hate yourselfI am nothing. I don't exist. I'm not even part of the blank canvas of our whole, our earth. What am I? Who knows. All we know is that I am the energy, the bright spot of forgotten, banned hope.Read this if you hate yourself
I used to shed layers of life and death, and yet nobody took me into consideration. Now, I'm the Thumbelina of my life, a small, easy-to-overcome type of crack in the colored cement of my storyline. What do I do? Live. That's my solution. It may not be the best solution in the world, but I feel as if I have nothing left otherwise. It's better to live than to die. (Or is it the other way around?) I only have one thing to say: don't be
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hasta là vista banana heimskur tík
thanks!
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"Van Gogh kept painting himself because he was the only model he had."
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