The Awful Emptiness of a Crowded Party

Everyone was dressed so nicely, hair was done, and outfits ironed – started thinking that she likes me; I hate how I get so excited over flutters of her eyelids, looking for some secret meaning, wishing I meant something, too. But I never do: a handful of pale dust that blew away.

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~ by perfectionatrix on February 15, 2016.

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