what does she want? sometimes she knows, sometimes she thinks otherwise.
but one thing is true of this magical place construed of blinding and dimming lights, of stages high and low, of tears surreal pulped from personal truths, of laughter echoed from the depths of hurting but healing souls, of bodies pushed to limits for stories to be told.
of theater. and of the constant war between hurting and healing. of hidden emotions and feelings dug and buried deep beneath her skin. at night she erupts, her tears fall, her frustrations thickens and thickens and thickens.
she's a poor soul waiting to be saved, knowing that she won't be. you can push her, she won't budge.
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