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Disclaimer: the only thing I own here is my angst.
Not Only Just
A book. It was just a book. A book that sat there and accused her as she opened the pages and saw the image of a man staring back out at her.
He should be wearing a brown jacket, her head told her. And his eyes had been much softer when he looked at her.
How did she know that? Where exactly had she seen him in her life?
When she fought to find the information pain seared itself across her head, forcing her to look away, to change her thoughts, to reconsider the task.
But he was waiting out there, judging her; evaluating every shallow action, willing her to be better. Those eyes told her so.