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Summary
“they’re going to trade me,” you tell enid, sour-salt crackling on your tongue.
“not this season,” she says. “you’re a good batter.”
“they don’t like me.”
“does it matter?” enid asks. she stabs the fabric again with her needle. red embroidery floss fans out across the black in the shape of a flower petal, or a drop of blood. “do you need to be liked?”
(or: jon halifax, in 20 snapshots.)
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Bookmark Notes:
full of emotions. all of them at once