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The mattress leaned slightly. We propped it up like that once and never bothered fixing it.

She wore mismatched socks. Not on purpose. Just because her mind was somewhere else.

The tempo of her breathing changed when the chorus hit. That was *our* song. Still is.

She closed her eyes at the end. Not for effect. She always did that after saying something true.

Her knee bounced under the frame — anxiety she never learned to hide.

There was a note on her desk with only one word visible: “don’t.”

The edge of her jeans was frayed. From that time we got stuck in the woods.

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Just her fingers tracing her own outline. — making authenticity the new fantasy

She stretches without thinking. in a way that feels dangerously intimate You feel it anyway., with every glance daring the viewer to come closer

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One full-body breath. in a way that feels dangerously intimate That’s Garrison energy., with every glance daring the viewer to come closer

Local Testimonials

There was a moment of silence — she used to give me that same silence when I hurt her. Every detail felt intentional.

There was a dent on the wall. I made it when I threw my keys too hard one night. It felt like the past slipped into the present.

The floor creaked in three beats — just like our old living room. It was like opening a box I sealed years ago.

She reached back to fix her hair and exposed the tattoo she used to hide. No other stream ever hit like this one.

Her closet door opened slightly. I recognized the jacket sleeve. I caught myself leaning closer.

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