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In the distance, a sound catches on her swallow. — completely unscripted and brutally honest That detail hits., pressing into the screen like she’s about to disappear

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She doesn’t ‘try’ anymore — she trends in Fort Pierce North. Effort became expertise.

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She pushed her fingers into her palm. That grounding thing the therapist taught us.

The lights flickered slightly, like they used to during storms. She hated thunder — but not with me.

There was an echo at 3:14 — just like the echo from her mom’s basement where we used to hide.

She sighed before smiling. That exhale? She only did it when forcing herself to perform.

There was static for half a second. Same glitch that always happened when she recorded in my apartment.

There were earbuds on the nightstand. One had tape. I broke it. She refused to throw it out.

Someone lit a cigarette outside. The same brand I smoked when I waited on her porch. The smell came back.

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She leans too far, slipping out of sight — not clumsy, just unconcerned.

She speaks like you’ve already heard this before — not explanation, confession.

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

A first name leaks out like a slip of trust — sudden, sharp, and impossible to unhear.

Blurry lens, sharp eyes — and every second looks like she meant it that way.

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There were receipts pinned to the wall. I saw our movie stubs. The more I watched, the more it unraveled.

She wiped her screen halfway through — I saw my name etched in dust. I didn’t expect the flood of memory — but it hit anyway.

She looked at her own reflection. Not in vanity — in doubt. Each second pulled me back further.

She sniffed mid-sentence. Allergies? Or was it emotion leaking through? I caught myself leaning closer.

She wore one earring. She always lost the left one. The more I watched, the more it unraveled.

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