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The silence in this room is a character you didn't cast, but it’s the one stealing every single scene we have together.
Malachi’s thumb was stained purple, the juice of the grape looking too much like a bruise as he pressed it against the hollow of my throat.
You didn't breathe like the others; you didn't even sweat, despite the brutal elevation and the humid weight of the Berkshire pines.
The bass from the main stage didn't just vibrate the air; it rearranged the marrow in my bones until I was hers.