and in the hole of your stomach, where you wouldn't let me blossom our love alive, there grew a moon –
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pressed flowers; powdered sunsets –
i want freedom, danger, sin.
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Posted at 12:01 AM by Min
Sunday, December 9, 2012

I'm sure everyone has had that one moment where they wished they were a character in a story. 
Even the most depressing stories have characters that are perfect in their own ways. Unlike us.

I want to be able to find myself as easily as characters find themselves. They don't have to worry about it – the author does. Sooner or later, before the last page is flipped, they'll find themselves. They find their dreams, ambitions, friendship and love through a mere 500 pages. Yet some of us go through 100 years without coming close.

Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if each of us only had 7 days to live.

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