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Everyone contemplates suicide at some point, even if it’s just for a minute. And one thing is usually the root cause. Loneliness.
“And you probably shouldn’t walk around dressed like this,”
“Number two is where you finally learn what you’re capable of,”
“Love.”
“I wish she was dead, because then I could love her.”
Snowfall is like a secret. It’s whispers and firelight and searching for his warmth between the sheets at two a.m. when the rest of the house is asleep.
There’s no history in new. No mystery.
I wanna fuck my father’s little whore.”
“I love you. You’re so fucking ours. We love you.”