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by Anonymous | Score: 100

A deep red surface reflected my furrowed brows back at me.  My skirt was too stiff  to panic in, too tight to hurry out of here now. So I continued with the worry folded between my eyes.

He's late.
Has he changed his mind?
It's my fault.

I turned the glass between my fingers, my reflection swirled away.

I don't feel anything for him.
The wall is up.
I don't know how to take it down.

Will I feel, if it goes down?

My hands wringed and twined together with the glass in between. The wine stilled 

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