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when i paint portraits of him in my mind, i use dark colours and give him horns and vampire fangs. and when i paint him, i think of all the times we fought and screamed, all the times i sat on the bathroom floor, crying. his blue eyes look ice cold rather than sparkling and warm. i know that i am equally to blame, that it was my fire that fuelled the volcano, but i can't erase this portrait of him from my head. especially now that the paint has dried.
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