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in the mirror we all have the same eyes and hair
brown and short, squirrel eyes people call them although Erica’s still over her shoulders, curled upwards look, mummy, the mirror is trying to steal us she holds it like the golden cup of time fairy dust lingering on our fingers at the traffic lights, frustrated , he’s got the remote, say what? of everything who? god, I hate him, he’s yukk behind it all, another one brown eyes and hair you just can’t put your finger on
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