Depends on what end of the pen you're looking at it from
I recently dreamed that the ghost of a woman who used to live in my apartment visited my bedside. She told me her name was Marguerite. She proceeded to ask me about my life as she rifled through my belongings. "What are you looking for?" I asked. "My destruction," she said. I asked her to define "destruction." She smirked. "It depends on what end of the pen you're looking at it from."
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