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Trash panda was the nicest thing my boyfriend ever called me. I loved the way he ordered extra pineapple to take the heat off the jalapeños on our pizza, how we snuck in the cinema's back door to watch movies and munch on leftover popcorn.

He once bought tickets for My Chemical Romance, but we got lost and ended up dancing to Neil Diamond. I loved how he recited poetry by Byron. Now, I'm reduced to scavenging in his room for everything I lost.

The door is opening.

"I'm sorry, who are you and what are you doing in my room?



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