This is my messy closet. It has thorns carefully stored. Handshakes with ghosts. Names, fuzzy in my mind. This 6 by 6 is a diary. Cluttered corners alive with gossip. Cracked heels reeking of dance, drinks, drama. It hides the dress worn that night. Plastic jewels, marked with memories of untied hair. Tiny rusty drawers, opening to dreams of curiosity, of hidden play. The key lies within, why search in space?

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