Weblog entry:
- Second draft, discarded edition
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she cranks the stereo up to eleven, vaulting up to the sofa to dance. she moves as though she could care less what the neighbors think of her music, solidifying the you and the her of the now you’re both mired in. as she moves, her hands above her head in a gorgeous pale halo, you sing, your voice transmitting zeroes and one across the cold, silent symmetry of your two laptop screens, each flitting like a penlight in the midnight memory you’re sharing. you both wait, blinded, moving toward the sound without a shift in your rhythms, your thoughts, your smiles. the half bottle of cheap wine sits on the table, forgotten, a word on the periphery that’s unwelcome, cackling, fat. you grin even though you hate the song on the stereo, you can’t remember its name, or even that it’s playing.
things are complete now, despite your better judgment.
things are decided. you.
you are decided.
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- 17th day of November 2003.
- Filed under Story, Memory.
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