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... d mistake.

The ceiling was becoming a recurring location in my consciousness, which said something deeply concerning about my life trajectory. What exactly, I wasn’t qualified to diagnose. But the data suggested I needed hobbies that didn’t involve staring at expensive plaster while girls with purple eyes made declarative statements about me.

"Isaiah."

"Still here."

Her voice came soft, patient in the way that suggested she had all the time in the world. "Look at ...

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