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pearlmilktea
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century
a hundred years. he opens his eyes and it's a hundred years later; the war is over. everything around them has been decimated. jagged, razor-sharp edges of skyscrapers glisten under the sun like a mouth of teeth. like artifacts of history. rain falls without clouds. the land is empty. this is all there is left, he realizes, but then thunder cracks and it turns to gunshots and he opens his eyes and the war is around him again
sisters
they were the same, almost. the same red hair, too curly to tame, flames around a cream white face. the same green eyes. if she looked in the mirror she could almost pretend that amy was still there. but what good is imagination at this point? they weren't the same, but they were close enough. nature never favors repetition.
oil
Oil seeped into the earth by the factories. Sometimes, it left pools of shimmering black on the ground like fresh rainwater. "You should shut down the factories," they had said upon inspection. "The pollution is getting out of hand." And yet, they had the audacity to say something like that where the streets were already littered with trash, the oceans uninhabitable, the air littered with burning chemicals? She had laughed, then, laughed at their naivety, at their halfhearted efforts to create a better world. "Do you really think that taking away the factories will fix anything?" That had shut them up. No one could repair the damages to the city. She was used to the sight of it by now, anyways.
banker
"I'd like to make a deposit of three hundred dollars." The worker looks up and gapes. The girl standing at the counter is gorgeous - slim long legs, smooth white hair, cold green eyes that peer straight into his. "Yeah, you can do that," the banker stutters, slightly dazed. "And you can deposit my heart right over there in the trash can," he mutters under his breath. "What?" "Nothing. I'll do it now." He shouldn't have taken this job, after all.
specific
"Be more specific," she says. He stares off into the distance at nothing at particular, one hand propping up his chin. "I can't." "Have you found someone else?" "No." It's a lie. "Yeah," he says quietly.
lint
Lint balls crowd on her jacket. Some are large and some are smaller. The cloth smells of mangoes and morning dew; it's a strange, uncanny concoction to fit a strange person. He likes it, though. It's just like her.
composed
hopes and dreams strung up into a necklace of notes crushing losses compressed into metaphorical words the ever sharpening pain, echoing, resounding, evaporating. she sang.
octave
why do I need to try so hard, going one arduous note at a time when others can so easily jump octaves?
stay
stay. he wouldn't return after he'd gone why couldn't he just hold her hand for one last time tell her he'd be back she wished he could she wished he could tell her he'd be back hold her hand for one last time why couldn't he just return after he'd gone he wouldn't stay.
unfolding
she unfolded the small paper cranes one after another after the other. when asked why, she responded it was because they wouldn't fly. she let go of her unreachable dreams, one after another after another. when asked why, she responded it was because she was flightless, just like those hopeless paper cranes
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