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Sunday, October 21


It was from a dream. The smiling faces. The high-pitched giggles. The half asleep confessions of, "Yeah. Maybe I did want to touch your butt." The soft hands of a friend whose love is older than anyone else's.

It was from a memory. The same Mac vs PC arguments. The same white girl dancing to overplayed songs. The same famous back rubs that I dream about. The same bickering, hugging, squealing, hellos, goodbyes.

But not the same. Different. Refreshing. Fleeting.


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