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Ryan hasn’t lived here for nearly a decade, but this rooritty thrillers and indie bands cover the black walls White string lights line the ceiling

When I pull the blackout curtains—black, of course—the sun disappears

The roooes dark

I flip the switch and the string lights glow like stars

Mood lighting

Lighting to fuck by

Or fuck yourself by

I press es of Penny and Ryan withones

It doesn’t work

I see them Here There Everywhere

The room spins as I fall onto the black bedspread It smells like him

It’s not him

But it’s war all the same

I wrap myself in the blanket, closeRyan and Penny’s conversation

I fail