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I want to get lost in your empty rooms.
I want to sit with you on a beach, while you smoke a cigarette.
I want to feel my whole body tingle.
I want the rain to wash away the past four years
and I want the wind to bring them back.
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Like so many Americans, she was trying to construct a life that made sense from things she found in gift shops.
— Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five (via blua)
