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Every time I think of the black market, I actually imagine a market, with little stalls selling illegal things like nuclear weapons and organs.
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Sometimes at night I suddenly become aware of all the things I’m missing out on right now, and all the people who I’m not close to anymore, and all of the good times that will never happen again, and all the people who meant the world to me who have forgotten about me forever, and I get this awful feeling that’s kind of like a mix between loneliness and nostalgia.
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This post has been featured on a 1000notes.com blog.
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