a familiar face turns the corner. Sloane Rose, my favorite author and the woman who sadly turned me down a month ago at the gym we both frequent. A smile grows on my face at the sight of her, even though it shouldn’t. She has a boyfriend, I remind myself. But it’s still difficult to hold back from admiring her. Since the first time I saw her, I’ve been enamored with her. There’s something about the way she moves. It’s like she’s floating rather than walking, as if she’s an ethereal being gracing us mere mortals with her presence. And yet, even with that graceful air about her, she never seems
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