the stone-like tension that permeates the air is constant and you hate yourself every time you forgive her, but you want to know her, always and forever (you're old enough to know better, but young enough to do it anyway)

...

[because my sister and i (intp and intj as we are) might as well be the modern, teenaged female Holmes brothers of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's lore (and it's exhausting to be this way but we can't change and i'm not sure we want to)]

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