"You turned out to be so much more sentimental than I ever thought you would be in high school," he said to me on Sunday.
“But I’m not sentimental about THINGS!” I insist. “I don’t care about things. I’m not attached to things!” I feel the contradiction as I speak it,
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Hot tears streamed down my face in a torrent.
It was March of 2010. Almost five years ago now. I sat in an enormous auditorium, alone yet surrounded by thousands of strangers, listening to Nichole Johnson perform her piece “Playing with Fire.”
She shouted. She yelled. She screamed with narrowed eyes and hatred in her voice.
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