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After writing an email, a text, anything really, you can simply run the whole thing through ChatGPT and it instantly deletes your personality. It flattens you out, irons your creases, washes you away, quirk by quirk, until you disappear.
She looks up at the ceiling again and thinks about her dad with the paint roller, waiting for it all to dry, and working out exactly where to put all the stars. The perfect pattern to make his daughter happy. That’s all you can do for your kids, isn’t it? Try to arrange the stars.
