Aryn Kyle

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You live like comfortable strangers. Like characters in a play

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In my room, I looked around at all the pieces of my life, neat and tidy on their little shelves, my clothes and books and telephones, my shoes and hair barrettes, and tried to care about them. Mine, mine, mine. But they were only things, things that could have belonged to anyone

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That was the real bitch about time: Everything true would become false, if only you waited long enough