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always small

30 Oct

I held his hand and shrank beside him, always a step behind, always small.

Decided against writing of it when it got dark at five, when it didn’t seem I could leave it again so easily. Turned off the music when I could feel the heat of an old anger crawling up my neck. Don’t need to remember it this way. Don’t want to strain to recall the parts I could miss, cold nights on the bus alone, wishing he was there or that a stranger would come over and show me right when all I knew was wrong.

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