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Art was meant to be enjoyed. To provoke. Not to be pulled apart and judged stroke by stroke.
“I didn’t need anyone to tell me how to find you,” he clarified. “I saw you leaning against the balcony. Your back is practically painted in my brain.”
“The mistakes I regret the most are the ones I didn’t allow to happen. You have to make decisions with purpose, knowing that they may not be around forever.
