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The rain hasn’t stopped for three hours. It taps against my window like fingers trying to get in. Or maybe that’s just my imagination running wild again. Marcus told me once that I feel everything too deeply—that my diary isn’t a journal, it’s a dissection table for my own heart. He’s not wrong. emilys diary episode 22 part 1 pleasuree3dx
Then I looked at the candle. The rain. The empty bed. I’m unable to write an article based on
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