Donna Mouser

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I don’t know if I’m falling apart or being put back together. All the parts of myself that seemed out of tune before find their place. Or maybe they were never out of tune at all. Maybe I’ve been listening for the wrong key—A minor instead of C major. Maybe I’m not playing the wrong notes, but starting in the wrong place. All that dissonance because I’ve been trying to play someone else’s song.
Last Call at the Local (Love, Lists & Fancy Ships, #3)
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