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WpMetadataReadComplete Thu, Jun 18, 20204h 3m
You're purple. A mixture of fire truck red- bright, bold, and demanding- and royal blue- serene and smooth. You're purple, a mixture of good and bad. Purple for your inner sass queen. You're beautiful and you're not afraid to own it (though sometimes you doubt yourself just a little bit). If you're purple, a mix of loud and smooth, she's yellow. Yellow for her sunshine smile and her wavy honey blonde hair and her adorable nature. Yellow because she's gentle and fragile and sensitive, yellow for her odd little quirks. Yellow for her almost unfair cuteness. Yellow because she's always there for you, no matter what. They compliment each other, yellow and purple. Naturally, you two would compliment each other as well. But she's head over heels for some random stranger, and you're just her roommate she sometimes goes to for crush advice that may not completely be over their last love interest.
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#171
unhappyending
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It was supposed to be anonymous. Just some harmless, late-night messeges on a forum. No names. No photos. No real-life complications. She was GoldTrap-mysterious, sharp, and way too good with words. I was BlueInk-awkward, sarcastic, and definitely not looking for anything. But then she made me laugh. Then she made me think. Then... she made me feel things I really shouldn't be feeling for someone I've never met. I'm Quinn. Twenty-four. Screenwriter-in-training. Emotionally a little chaotic and basically there no reason an amazing woman like her would be falling for someone like me. I've played a lot of roles in my life. But never this one. ----------------------------------------------- Late at night, I started writing letters to a stranger on a private forum-just to feel something real. She calls herself BlueInk. She's young, clever, infuriatingly honest... and somehow, she sees right through me. She doesn't know I'm Juliette Delaney-Hollywood's favorite ice queen with a face on every magazine and a life that doesn't belong to me anymore. She doesn't know that when I type, my hands shake. That when I read her replies, I smile. That I'm craving her words more than I've ever craved the spotlight. And I don't know what will happen if she finds out who I am. Because if I tell her the truth, I might lose the one person who loves me for who I really am. Not the icon. Not the actress. Just... me. But if I don't? I'll never get to feel her say my name out loud.

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