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“I tend to be too chatty, too silly, too exuberant, too random, too eager.” She spreads her hands. “Too Hazel-y.” She is all of these things, but it’s actually why I like her. She’s entirely her own person.
I give him an encouraging nod, one meant to remind him that this is his life and he only has to tell people as much—or as little—as he wants.
