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The only reason she was writing was that a dream had requested her to and there was nothing more to do. She walked down the corridor of the bare-boned dormitory to try another chance at connection. This was a lad in college and so much younger than her, but here she was. Eventually, he figured out that what he wanted was something different than her. She was hardly surprised. The room they spent their last days in was shared by two roommates - one was never there and one was one of those smart heavy-set diffident chicks who practiced not giving a fuck religiously. He ended up making out with her. Your protagonist could barely be bothered to die or give a shit. She was mostly concerned with the numbing march of daze. It was a surprise when her aunt and mother visited, yet that was cause for even more shame as it was obvious that narcissi had lost the ring. As they left the campus, she gathered as much as was her due.
It struck her as so funny that all this industry and care just for someone to deliver her a $20 bag of dehydrated coconut milk. She liked her curries and also ordered Mae ploy paste and had three crabs fish sauce in her cupboard. Nothing much mattered anymore, but even typing that made her tear up a bit. She wanted something to tether her to goddammit she'd say it - whatever love was. It was frustrating to be a waste of space.
Her brother and mother passed two drug-addled fiends as they were leaving. Her brother was ignoring them as they screamed past. He explained to us that he would have to turn around and acknowledge them for his future relationships.
She hadn't been able to get up off the ground since Wilmington and it was hard-won not to sob. all the time... A new thing she was trying was an old thing - she would push away the constant negative thoughts of being worthless, old, ridiculous, wasted space, tragic, boring, silly, friendless. The hard thing was she felt her love was a lure - a trap. All the charity that she had received was the limit of what she could expect, yet time seemed to still tick. There was a blond baboon type photo she kept in her one-year charity home that she kept heated to 55 degrees to try and save a bit on the heat. She was wearing her body blanket now. The photo was one that her second husband had printed after she had printed a beautiful one of him. He had said it was the most beautiful soul-touching photo to him. She had admitted always being shocked at the way things looked to her from the way it felt inside. The photo mocked her. She was younger and gorgeous but she also recalled not realizing it and she recalled when she had taken the photo that she was going to document her painful sadness. So much of anything she created was a document.
"are you coming?"
"give me a minute."
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