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Inflict, Face, Vulgarity, Longing, Feathers, Butterflies, Bluff, Organic, Sweatshirt, Jostle, Ply, Terrible
She held the sweatshirt close to her heart, the ply layers of softness and clean organic smell so reminiscent of her.
There was no vulgarity in their love, though each had tried to bluff the other that it didn’t exist. Feathers and butterflies would jostle her senses, they were one with the world and each other.
She could almost touch her face, the longing was that intense. How was she to know her passing would inflict such terrible pain.