Their clothes. Her life. One thousand photos.
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SEVENTY-THREE, SEVENTY-TWO, SEVENTY-ONE, SEVENTY, SIXTY-NINE
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SHE LEFT HER GLASS OF CHAMPAGNE NEXT TO THE ARMCHAIR ON THE FLOOR
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HER VISION BLURRED, HEARING NOTHING BUT THE SOUND OF EUPHORIA
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SHE READ THE LABEL AND THOUGHT SURE ENOUGH, IT'S ALWAYS BEST BEFORE
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ANY MINUTE NOW, IT'S NOT GONNA BE LONG
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SHE CLOSED HER EYES AND SAW THE SAME SUN BURNING
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THE SCENT OF THE COLD PILLOWS
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