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there are millions of suns left.

twenty-year-old screenwriting student in boston.
history, television, other assorted nonsense.

To Beatrice — My love flew like a butterfly / Until death swooped down like a bat / As poet Emma Montana McElroy said: / “That’s the end of that.

— Miserable Mill dedication, Lemony Snicket

Notes:

  1. youvegotbeauty posted this