I'm sitting in the chair, the hair stylist struggling with my messy hair. I stare at my phone blankly, scrolling through my insta feed. The others all ask if I'm okay but I brush them off. The concert is gonna be just like the others. I'm trying to keep it together, maybe I'll get the chance to call you afterwards. Or mom and dad. I bite my lip, trying not to cry again. My make-up artist would probably strangle me if i did
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