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I do not like Facebook. It feels like a haunted time capsule that insists on reminding me of who I was 14 years ago. It pops up with posts like a close-up of a dandelion paired with Death Cab for Cutie lyrics. Or it digs up photos from my first “portrait sessions” in 2009, when my friends graciously stood in front of my camera so I could figure out what aperture even meant. Every time I log in, it feels like an unwelcome nostalgia trip.
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