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et le ciel s'effondra

and the sky collapsed

SHE ASKS WHERE YOU ARE GOING. YOU SAY, "A BETTER PLACE," AND TRACE ON THE BACK OF HER HAND. WETNESS BLOOMS ON HER SLEEVE LIKE A BRUISE AND THE WEBS OF HER PALMS BLEED CRACKS INTO THE THIN PORCELAIN SHE CUPS BETWEEN FRAIL WAX FINGERS. YOU ASK IF SHE WILL MISS YOU AND SHE ANSWERS, "GOLDFISH DON'T KEEP GRUDGES."
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THIS. SOMEONE FINALLY MADE THIS.

OMG. I AM MARRYING THIS MIX RIGHT NOW.