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Summary
You're in the Sheriff department, sitting on a rusty chair as you look at an old box that holds everything that you were,
soft fingers caressing the worn material, eyes filled with an emotion so indecisive and wavering like the sea.
Heartfelt sorrow buried underneath a layer upon a layer of feigned forgetfulness.
It doesn't matter anymore, you say, but oh it does.
It matters and always have, and suddenly, you hope you do too.