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The Note.She ran from it.
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She ran from love for a long time, from those eyes, big and blue and fringed with mascara-thick lashes, from the thin vibrato of a happy heart humming with joy, from the laughter of a girl ringing out bright and clear in the summer air.
It scared her, so she hid, and buried herself under the useless baggage she'd accumulated over fifteen years, and she curled herself up, knees at her chin.
She didn't deserve to be happy, so she ignored the tremulous love that threatened to overwhelm her, a wonderful sickness that quivered inside of her and tried to spill out of her eyes and her fingertips and her mouth.
When her legs got too cramped to hide anymore she ran and ran and ran, her muscles burning and her lungs dragging in painful rushes of air, but she couldn't stop the happiness, she couldn't stop it fizzing and bubbling. She couldn't stop the pure joy, the simple joy, she couldn't stop it from chasing the darkness away, she couldn't stop the quiet harp-noise of life.