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Withering, Then Lost
Your companionship is a withering flower. Confined in a glass vase of still water, relying on sunlight through windows. But that doesn't help. The light on her skin, burning— her once lavender self lost. Her hands fall to the ground, drowning in the water that I changed— an attempt to salvage what was left.
Your companionship is a withering flower. Confined in a glass vase of still water, relying on sunlight through windows. But that...
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