Weblog entry:
- Inquiring mine
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it’s the sweeping insensitivity of it all, the hide and seek of silent sighs and collapsed intentions. they sit side-by-side, and it’s not until the last seconds that you realize exactly what they’ve been saying: you pick up from where you started, step back in line, and begin to talk.
the nights on her porch were the ones you’re left with, the low moan of the highway rounding off the quiet parts of your awkward pauses. you still think of the night she leapt on the couch, spinning to the words from the stereo as you sat there, dumbstruck, awestruck, struck.
her voice is the low hum of a teakettle, metallic and so very now. you rush in from the other room, but—of course—no one’s there. all you can do is what you’ve become so very good at.
you pick up from where you started, step back in line, and begin to talk.
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