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18 March 2008 @ 08:35 am
Soul mates.  
Middle school.
The girl-stopping at the fountain for a drink.
The boy-instantly rooted to the spot, intensely aware of her wet lips.

High school.
The boy-groping at words and bra clasps.
The girl-suffocating under the weight of him and his and what he wants and what they all want and wanting to die.

The coed-saying she has to study to hide from the greek whores.
The sport-sticking it in one too many speedfreak townies.

The breadwinner-too tired to fuck too slow to catch the cab too drunk to stop yelling.
The housewife-too tired to fuck too far in debt to buy that dress too many kids to go out anyway.

The grammama-telling her girls to watch out for the boys.
The gramps-fighting back the pains in his chest as he laughs at the boys' trying to catch a ball.

Words in cement.
The beloved husband-he never heard opportunity knock because he was too busy building doors.
The beloved wife-she did more than exist, she lived. She did more than listen, she understood.
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