She remained as she had always been, amused and curious. But strangely distant, as if her own life were a book she was reading. One she might put down at any moment in order to gaze out the window at the sky.
I mess up a lot. I'm a cynical, bitter teenage girl who wants to give up on the world, but just can't seem too. Maybe I do believe in fate. Maybe love does exist. I guess we'll just have to find out for ourselves, won't we?
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