It’s you. It’s me. It’s us. What I feel? Like how I want to take your pain away and yet throttle you at the same moment? How your stupid dimples are infuriating, but I look for them every time you smile because I know that’s a real smile. I don’t know why I look forward to arguing with you, but I do. You’re clever, and you are kinder than even you realize—even though I know you have earned the title of the Dark One. You are a puzzle I want to figure out, but at the same time, don’t. And when I realized you have so many masks—so many layers, I kept wanting to peel them back, even though I fear
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