the format, "matches"
My birthday is in eighteen days, almost seventeen.
I'll be fifteen.
I need a haircut.
This guy, Eric, almost likes me but kind of doesn't. He's my best friend's ex-boyfriend and even though I have "permission" to date him, I don't want to.
I might like him, a little.
But I don't want him.
I feel less and less loved each day. I want to disappear.
But in a good way.
Today my mother bought me underwear, those socks you wear with flats, flip-flops, and really cute red and tan wedges.
They're like my first real high heel shoes? Except not.
I'm so grown-up.
Or at least, I try.
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