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I don't pick my favorite colors. They pick me, then leave me when they want, not when I ask.
I don't pick my favorite colors. They pick me. They cling to my skin, they go under my scalp, they find those little spots under my fingernails that become tender and raw when I bite them
They know next to nothing about my brand of what they are guessing about, possibly, though most acknowledge it is strength. The internet cannot explain to me