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Spheres rolled between my fingers and palm with a rhythmic click-click. Blue plastic that had become as natural to hold and fidget with as breathing over the past twelve days.
Cheap hair ties that looked like her wolf’s eye color if you squinted. Barely a replacement or a memory. Yet, all gifts count from the thought.
I just don’t know what hers are, anymore. So, I’m not sure how to value them.
"The southern quarter’s staging is complete. Medical sup ...
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