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She’s like my own sunrise. Beautiful. Perfect. She fills a part of me that’s been empty and dark for as long as I can remember.
It’s like a mixture of love and not being able to breathe unless she’s around – thoughts that run wild wondering what she’s doing, where she is, if she’s thinking of me. It’s the butterflies that flutter like maniacs when I know I’m going to see her soon. The Stacey Rhodes Effect.
“Are you going to be my forever, Freckles?”
“Ty moy, Vesnushki.”
Stacey standing on the Erskine Bridge with tears pouring down her face, wearing what she had on when I told her to get the fuck out of my life. My brother is trying to get her down. Stacey was suicidal for something that wasn’t her fault. No.