“I don’t believe you really like me.” He said, “You don’t believe me?” “Come here.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her along. They went through the double doors of the hallway. He leaned up against the end of the row of lockers, grabbed her face in his hands, and kissed her. It was the perfect kiss. Then he said, “Do you believe me now?"
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A guilty conscience needs to confess. A work of art is a confession. You were born an original. Do not die a copy.