Prologue

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Picture the scene: I'm sixteen. It's September 25th. My favorite color is grey, but not flat dull slate grey. My favorite color is the grey of a dawning sky, the kind with gentle dark clouds and smiling beams of light shot through it. That's the color I associate myself with. Grey. I'm dating a boy with sky-colored eyes, the light blue of a humid summer day. That's his color. Blue.

I have this thing about the sky. It's just so beautiful and though it's always there, it's never the same from day to day. I aspire to be like the sky; if clouds cover my light I wish I could just let them blow away.

Sometimes the sky is the only reason I get up in the morning. The only reason I try. Some people say it's pretentious that I get up every single day just to take a picture of the sunrise, but some people haven't been completely, utterly, and totally mentally ill.

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