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" They would always be here, she realized. Always. Day in, day out. They had lives of their own, lives that would be the same day after day into perpetuity, and yet they’d chosen to make themselves into what was essentially the furniture of other people’s realities. These, she thought, were people without dreams, and she wondered what had happened to cut those dreams out and leave them hollow carriers of nothing but a feeble need to see something more in the mindless kick of a ball down the field. She’d once thought it was imaginary value, the way they watched this. But it wasn’t imaginary. It was real, when it was the only thing that let them feel like there was still some bright spark left in them. That had value, if only to them. That meant something. "
― Cole McCade , The Lost (Crow City, #1)