We drove and drove and drove until we hit water I couldn't find the end of. You stopped and turned off the truck and then turned your upper body to lean against your door and you looked at me and I stared straight ahead, amused and a little pissed off that you cut off the one song I need on repeat these days and you told me it wasn't a very good song anyway. We both know you were lying just like you lie about all kinds of little insignificant things that might make you appear too relaxed and too permissive. Or too beautiful for words. People were never supposed to be so flawless or there would be too much claustrophobia.
You scowled at the tears that followed, such an immature response to the sudden unwelcome silence. Instead of sympathy you offered adventure and instead of wallowing I chose risk and I followed you into the water in my dress that I couldn't hold on to and the cotton drank the lake until I was soaked to my waist and you laughed and told me to take it off, that no one would care but I cared and instead I decided I would take it off later in the truck.
We walked until the parts in our hair were pink and painful and our freckles stood out (but only in the summer) and our eyes were blind to the shadows and blasted with rays that seek to melt us down into basic liquid human forms, with condiments of beauty and pain, served in matching tiny bowls, flavor how you like it. We tasted all of them, never finding one that pleased.
You kissed the salt from my lips and the tears from my cheeks and you swore ugly words right in my face and let me see the hate in your blue eyes for what I am and then maybe you lied some more.
A man with broken wings
I hold no blame against you like a lover for your honesty and no sadness for the truth of what this means. I am aware that you have asked for the thought as it arrives into my head but then it escapes from my mouth before my brain can capture it and keep it safe to avoid scarring you.
There is no competition here, my angel. Nothing to fear except for my runaway heart and it's your boomerang that you've lovingly shaped while I wasn't ever looking or even aware. While I daydreamed in my deafness, while I slept. You prayed and fought for the ownership of a loaded gun and you don't even know how to work it but you're learning and with few mistakes and a little bit of fear and blood you have discovered, to your delight, to your dismay, that you are still alive.
While I slept, you promised yourself you would learn.
With determination you drove all night and most of the next day to find a place where the water met the horizon and then you watched me unravel like a ribbon and fall apart. When it happened you were so surprised at the bang for your buck, the magnitude of what lies inside of the smallest packages, of what rage and fear and terror and pain looks like bottled inside of something so beautiful. Is it more or less real than holding it all in? Would it be better served hurriedly and distracted to lessen the strength of it, diluted with noise and mindless, endless tasks that help no one?
I only said he would have loved that song and it was too much for you and so you took out all of your remaining frustrations and poured them over me like a cold shower and I let you, I let you see how frail I really am.
We talked until we ran out of words. And then we walked until our legs could carry us no further before you turned and took my face in your hands and you told me we'd do it anyway. We'd keep walking beside each other, even though you said it was harder to be together than it ever was to be apart. Hard in a different way and I know what you mean, I really do.
We drove home in the blue-black night, the silence pushing into the truck and crowding us out, my still-wet dress plastered to me, making me smaller and more pathetic while you followed the yellow line south until we saw familiar markers and you never looked at me while I hit repeat fifty times on the stereo but I watched you as you mouthed the words to the song in the dark because you didn't think I was ever paying attention.
I am. And I know you love that song because it's about me.
And the bed that we're sharing
Is the home that I want to bring you
Want to feel you
I don't want to hear you
Monday, 30 July 2007
Sunday, 29 July 2007
The most fitting word-tattoo I sport. Phoning it in today. Have a good one.
frag∑ile (frjl, -l)
adj.
1. Easily broken, damaged, or destroyed; frail.
2. Lacking physical or emotional strength; delicate.
3. Lacking substance; tenuous or flimsy: a fragile claim to fame.
[French, from Old French, from Latin fragilis, from frangere, frag-, to break; see bhreg- in Indo-European roots.]
fragile∑ly adv.
fra∑gili∑ty (fr-jl-t), fragile∑ness n.
Synonyms: fragile, breakable, frangible, delicate, brittle
These adjectives mean easily broken or damaged. Fragile applies to objects that are not made of strong or sturdy material and that require great care when handled: fragile porcelain plates.
Breakable and frangible mean capable of being broken but do not necessarily imply inherent weakness: breakable toys; frangible artifacts.
Delicate refers to what is so soft, tender, or fine as to be susceptible to injury: delicate fruit.
Brittle refers to inelasticity that makes something especially likely to fracture or snap when it is subjected to pressure: brittle bones. See Also Synonyms at weak.
frag∑ile (frjl, -l)
adj.
1. Easily broken, damaged, or destroyed; frail.
2. Lacking physical or emotional strength; delicate.
3. Lacking substance; tenuous or flimsy: a fragile claim to fame.
[French, from Old French, from Latin fragilis, from frangere, frag-, to break; see bhreg- in Indo-European roots.]
fragile∑ly adv.
fra∑gili∑ty (fr-jl-t), fragile∑ness n.
Synonyms: fragile, breakable, frangible, delicate, brittle
These adjectives mean easily broken or damaged. Fragile applies to objects that are not made of strong or sturdy material and that require great care when handled: fragile porcelain plates.
Breakable and frangible mean capable of being broken but do not necessarily imply inherent weakness: breakable toys; frangible artifacts.
Delicate refers to what is so soft, tender, or fine as to be susceptible to injury: delicate fruit.
Brittle refers to inelasticity that makes something especially likely to fracture or snap when it is subjected to pressure: brittle bones. See Also Synonyms at weak.
Saturday, 28 July 2007
Warm and sleepy Saturdays.
He's singing again. Progress.
I woke up to Iron & Wine this morning, coffee on a tray on the bed and a big handsome blonde man with a short fuzzy beard and a smile in his eyes singing to me while he played his guitar. I knew him from my sleepy fog by the ring he wore. It matched mine.
Some days her shape in the doorway
Will speak to me
A bird's wing up on the window
Sometimes I'll hear when she's sleeping
Her fever dream
A language on her face
I woke up to Iron & Wine this morning, coffee on a tray on the bed and a big handsome blonde man with a short fuzzy beard and a smile in his eyes singing to me while he played his guitar. I knew him from my sleepy fog by the ring he wore. It matched mine.
Some days her shape in the doorway
Will speak to me
A bird's wing up on the window
Sometimes I'll hear when she's sleeping
Her fever dream
A language on her face
Friday, 27 July 2007
Fragile miss and second (third, fourth) chances.
Jacob has returned to his wonderful ways of keeping close, of being right here within reach because that's where I like him best. There's nothing more we can say or do. We've said everything we could say and thought everything we can think and done what we can to offer help or shoulders or ears (my bionic ones especially) and all that's left is to pray and wait for the dust to settle.
I've never been the kind of person who was good at letting things go or with having the kind of faith needed to wait out someone else's meltdown or step away from a situation that wasn't good for me purely because of feelings for the person involved. Jacob is good at that, he's good at waiting. He says Loch will come around, that this was his version of running, it just seems more deplorable but he isn't the first man to get cold feet when confronted with fatherhood.
It seems like the beginning of the end, the group who used to spend summer evenings discussing movies and cooking new recipes on the barbecue and playing with my kids or going on extreme camping trips is no more. Did we grow up and grow apart? Was the stress of the past two years too much to bear?
I don't know if it is.
I might never know. It's out of my hands, now.
The chances are there. In the interest of grace there's no finite number of opportunities we have given each other, this group of friends, to keep things right. People are human. We mess up, we atone, make amends, eat lots of crow and keep going. We keep holding each other up. We move forward and distance ourselves from the foolish uneducated versions of ourselves who misstepped. We forgive. We love no matter what. We're there. For each other.
We should be a movie, for crying out loud.
In any case, we've opted not to host a dinner tomorrow. Jacob asked me what I wanted to do instead and I rattled off something about watching a horror movie marathon and polishing off the bottle of Stoli I found in his desk drawer. The locked one with the key in the other drawer.
He laughed and said that it wasn't funny, that he was actually laughing because I never learn. I pointed out that I was testing him, and that if I had wanted the Stoli I would have simply taken it. That brought a very big smile and a gentle reminder that we will be okay. That everyone will be okay. When it rains it pours but eventually the sun returns. God, I love this giant hippie.
Shaky, tenuous optimism. Wish me luck, I'm not very good at it.
I've never been the kind of person who was good at letting things go or with having the kind of faith needed to wait out someone else's meltdown or step away from a situation that wasn't good for me purely because of feelings for the person involved. Jacob is good at that, he's good at waiting. He says Loch will come around, that this was his version of running, it just seems more deplorable but he isn't the first man to get cold feet when confronted with fatherhood.
It seems like the beginning of the end, the group who used to spend summer evenings discussing movies and cooking new recipes on the barbecue and playing with my kids or going on extreme camping trips is no more. Did we grow up and grow apart? Was the stress of the past two years too much to bear?
I don't know if it is.
I might never know. It's out of my hands, now.
The chances are there. In the interest of grace there's no finite number of opportunities we have given each other, this group of friends, to keep things right. People are human. We mess up, we atone, make amends, eat lots of crow and keep going. We keep holding each other up. We move forward and distance ourselves from the foolish uneducated versions of ourselves who misstepped. We forgive. We love no matter what. We're there. For each other.
We should be a movie, for crying out loud.
In any case, we've opted not to host a dinner tomorrow. Jacob asked me what I wanted to do instead and I rattled off something about watching a horror movie marathon and polishing off the bottle of Stoli I found in his desk drawer. The locked one with the key in the other drawer.
He laughed and said that it wasn't funny, that he was actually laughing because I never learn. I pointed out that I was testing him, and that if I had wanted the Stoli I would have simply taken it. That brought a very big smile and a gentle reminder that we will be okay. That everyone will be okay. When it rains it pours but eventually the sun returns. God, I love this giant hippie.
Shaky, tenuous optimism. Wish me luck, I'm not very good at it.
May as well end this week on the most awfullest note ever.
Everytime it goes down
Everytime she comes down
Everytime we fall down
She dances all over me
The end of November. 126 days from now.
That's when Loch and Kiera's baby is due.
Loch said nothing about the baby. Nothing. He hasn't gone to a single appointment. He never told a soul. Not his family, not his friends, no one knew. Kiera has shouldered this alone. She told him to go fuck himself and decided she would just raise the baby herself, as people sometimes do. That she was better off without him if he acted like that. Caleb (of all people) found out and mentioned it to Ben, who told us all on Wednesday in the blistering heat of a sun's day that smashed records and hearts, the heat that brought that nights' epic rainstorm. Because Loch needs help.
Out of all the people who would do something so awful as to break up with someone half a breath after they tell you they're having your child, Loch would have been the last person I would have expected to pull a stunt like that.
No matter what you think of him, this isn't behavior he would normally exhibit. He's not that kind of guy. I knew he was in crisis and I'm angry that he didn't talk to someone. Anyone. It didn't have to be me. Instead he flips out and changes everything in his life and comes looking for me as if we could somehow turn back the clock. He's nostalgic and sweet suddenly, defeated. I played right into his hands. This is not Loch. I'm so disappointed in him.
He won't answer his phone. He knows I know and all I want to do is scream at him to suck it up and support his child and the mother of his child. For Christs' sake, do something.
What's so ironic is that Loch wanted what Jacob has and now the only thing Jacob still wants that I can never give him is the one thing that Loch just threw away.
Everytime it goes down
Everytime she comes down
Everytime we fall down
She dances all over me
The end of November. 126 days from now.
That's when Loch and Kiera's baby is due.
Loch said nothing about the baby. Nothing. He hasn't gone to a single appointment. He never told a soul. Not his family, not his friends, no one knew. Kiera has shouldered this alone. She told him to go fuck himself and decided she would just raise the baby herself, as people sometimes do. That she was better off without him if he acted like that. Caleb (of all people) found out and mentioned it to Ben, who told us all on Wednesday in the blistering heat of a sun's day that smashed records and hearts, the heat that brought that nights' epic rainstorm. Because Loch needs help.
Out of all the people who would do something so awful as to break up with someone half a breath after they tell you they're having your child, Loch would have been the last person I would have expected to pull a stunt like that.
No matter what you think of him, this isn't behavior he would normally exhibit. He's not that kind of guy. I knew he was in crisis and I'm angry that he didn't talk to someone. Anyone. It didn't have to be me. Instead he flips out and changes everything in his life and comes looking for me as if we could somehow turn back the clock. He's nostalgic and sweet suddenly, defeated. I played right into his hands. This is not Loch. I'm so disappointed in him.
He won't answer his phone. He knows I know and all I want to do is scream at him to suck it up and support his child and the mother of his child. For Christs' sake, do something.
What's so ironic is that Loch wanted what Jacob has and now the only thing Jacob still wants that I can never give him is the one thing that Loch just threw away.
Thursday, 26 July 2007
Today is not a good day.
I could have spent all night looking at the stars and the moon but they weren't there and instead the rain lashed against my face and soaked my dress and the thunder roared inside my skull and Jacob found me sitting on the steps wishing I could be invisible. He took me inside and got me into a hot shower and then a dry towel and then into bed and I couldn't sleep but I could still hear the roaring in my ears and see the flashing outside our windows as the storm ravaged the city.
I am small. Small and insignificant.
I am small. Small and insignificant.
Wednesday, 25 July 2007
Speaker of the house
(Edit: Two glaring facts I notice after finishing this entry. Loch is having definitely having a midlife crisis and Jacob has unhealthily refused to acknowledge my willing participation in recent events. No good will come of either.)
I hate speakerphone. I hate people fighting over me. I hate that I put all of us in this position. I hate that I can swallow my pride and most of my dignity and own my mistakes without making things worse, the way Loch is making things worse.
Lochlan, who has lost his ever-loving mind. Loch who used to be a pretty firm voice of authority with nary a hint of spontaneous foolishness has opted to play the fool. Sore losses, my Lochlan. No, not mine, scratch that. I've already had a few comeuppances for my cheeky comments after the fact. Maybe I'm faring no better. I'm learning to make boundaries. Slowly.
In any event, Loch (chief tech support guy in our circle now that Cole is dead) hears/reads of my computer woes and calls, to be helpful or to meddle, whichever. Computer issues are quickly resolved and then he asks to speak to Jacob.
Jacob was using both hands and one knee to hold Henry's airplane together as he glued it. He's fixing it as a surprise while Henry's away. He is not amused but asks me to put Loch on speakerphone. I press the button and they exchange some stilted greetings. Then right off the bat Loch has the audacity to make some crack about stealing me from Jacob. Jacob laughed with that Oh my fuck incredulous laugh he has, newly sarcastic to a fault and asked how Loch was going to pull that off.
Loch had an unreal edge to his voice and he started in with a litany of how Jacob inserted himself into my life and never let up with pressure on me and it drove Cole to an early grave and Jacob has everything so why would he want to break up a family?
I was beginning to wonder if Loch was drunk or had a selective memory to forget how Cole treated me or possibly he just has a newfound deathwish.
Jacob's voice caught as he yelled at Loch,
She's the only thing I ever wanted in my whole life, Lochlan, and I will love her forever, no matter what she does. If she chooses to spend the rest of her life with me, which she has, then I can want for nothing more.
Loch hung up on him.
I burst into tears. It was a half-shameful, half-grateful feeling that overcame my exhaustion.
Jacob propped up the wing and came over and put his arms around me.
It's really too bad you can't bottle what you have, princess. You'd be rich.
I am rich, Jacob.
Oh, now you sound like me.
I wonder why.
I'm not spending any more time back and forthing it with Loch, though.
I don't blame you.
Could you...can you just...
Just what?
Could you just shut it off now, please?
I would say this marks the beginning of the countdown to the moment Jacob asks me to choose between my friends and my marriage. I hope he doesn't do that.
I hate speakerphone. I hate people fighting over me. I hate that I put all of us in this position. I hate that I can swallow my pride and most of my dignity and own my mistakes without making things worse, the way Loch is making things worse.
Lochlan, who has lost his ever-loving mind. Loch who used to be a pretty firm voice of authority with nary a hint of spontaneous foolishness has opted to play the fool. Sore losses, my Lochlan. No, not mine, scratch that. I've already had a few comeuppances for my cheeky comments after the fact. Maybe I'm faring no better. I'm learning to make boundaries. Slowly.
In any event, Loch (chief tech support guy in our circle now that Cole is dead) hears/reads of my computer woes and calls, to be helpful or to meddle, whichever. Computer issues are quickly resolved and then he asks to speak to Jacob.
Jacob was using both hands and one knee to hold Henry's airplane together as he glued it. He's fixing it as a surprise while Henry's away. He is not amused but asks me to put Loch on speakerphone. I press the button and they exchange some stilted greetings. Then right off the bat Loch has the audacity to make some crack about stealing me from Jacob. Jacob laughed with that Oh my fuck incredulous laugh he has, newly sarcastic to a fault and asked how Loch was going to pull that off.
Loch had an unreal edge to his voice and he started in with a litany of how Jacob inserted himself into my life and never let up with pressure on me and it drove Cole to an early grave and Jacob has everything so why would he want to break up a family?
I was beginning to wonder if Loch was drunk or had a selective memory to forget how Cole treated me or possibly he just has a newfound deathwish.
Jacob's voice caught as he yelled at Loch,
She's the only thing I ever wanted in my whole life, Lochlan, and I will love her forever, no matter what she does. If she chooses to spend the rest of her life with me, which she has, then I can want for nothing more.
Loch hung up on him.
I burst into tears. It was a half-shameful, half-grateful feeling that overcame my exhaustion.
Jacob propped up the wing and came over and put his arms around me.
It's really too bad you can't bottle what you have, princess. You'd be rich.
I am rich, Jacob.
Oh, now you sound like me.
I wonder why.
I'm not spending any more time back and forthing it with Loch, though.
I don't blame you.
Could you...can you just...
Just what?
Could you just shut it off now, please?
I would say this marks the beginning of the countdown to the moment Jacob asks me to choose between my friends and my marriage. I hope he doesn't do that.
Tuesday, 24 July 2007
Kiss count for the top of Bridget's head now: 247.
I was staring at the sunset and it got too bright and I started seeing black spots so Jacob passed me his giant seventies sunglasses to put on while he was taking pictures.
Monday morning he asked if there was a specific reason I wasn't wearing my hearing aids on our drive the night before. I said I had worn them, what was he talking about?
He showed me a picture, taken surreptitiously as I watched the clouds roll out and I was busted.
I took them out because it made it easier to ignore the hurt in his voice as we talked. It made it easier not to listen. Sometimes it just makes it easier to hide. He understood, thankfully.
The good news is the top of my head is still his favorite body part of mine.
You were going to say something else, weren't you?
Snort.
I was staring at the sunset and it got too bright and I started seeing black spots so Jacob passed me his giant seventies sunglasses to put on while he was taking pictures.
Monday morning he asked if there was a specific reason I wasn't wearing my hearing aids on our drive the night before. I said I had worn them, what was he talking about?
He showed me a picture, taken surreptitiously as I watched the clouds roll out and I was busted.
I took them out because it made it easier to ignore the hurt in his voice as we talked. It made it easier not to listen. Sometimes it just makes it easier to hide. He understood, thankfully.
The good news is the top of my head is still his favorite body part of mine.
You were going to say something else, weren't you?
Snort.
Loch and load poems.
Sometimes even Loch doesn't know quite when to give up. I never cast him aside, I should never have been with him. We don't get along well enough to be more than friends. We never did, we never will. I used him and he used me. He practically raised me and then some things happened and he bequeathed me to Cole and-
Justify, justify, Bridge. Knock it off.
Here, I'll give you his latest. Previous poems are here if you can find them. Enjoy it or say What in the fuck? like Jake did.
One night the mermaid came to me
with tears upon her face
looking for a safe and sound
and warm and happy place
Her angel had rejected her
a temporary feat
her eyes were sad her limbs were weak
her heart had ceased to beat
The mermaid found her former flame
a love burned strong and true
he opened up his arms so wide
she knew what she must do
She went to into his circle thus
and kissed him sweetly so
she knew that she would hurt the angel
but upward she must go
For even angels make mistakes
as most of us will say
and sometimes feelings you hope might die
never go away
For the flame still loved his mermaid
as he held her in his arms
He swore that he would keep her safe
and never do her harm
But she swam away so quick and light
back toward her love
her wayward angel, so cavalier
waiting up above
He gets it all, the mermaid's love
the spoils, that coveted prize
the looks of adoration and reverence
pouring from her eyes
the former flame gets nothing
just her rare and precious skin
but nothing of that adoration
from the mermaid's heart within
The flame is but a burning light
a spark or just an ember
burning for the mermaid's love
from new years to december
He wishes he could cast the angel
back to heaven for good
and be with his beautiful mermaid girl
the way he always should
If she would just give him a chance
then surely she would see
that sometimes loves from days gone by
are the ones that are meant to be
Justify, justify, Bridge. Knock it off.
Here, I'll give you his latest. Previous poems are here if you can find them. Enjoy it or say What in the fuck? like Jake did.
One night the mermaid came to me
with tears upon her face
looking for a safe and sound
and warm and happy place
Her angel had rejected her
a temporary feat
her eyes were sad her limbs were weak
her heart had ceased to beat
The mermaid found her former flame
a love burned strong and true
he opened up his arms so wide
she knew what she must do
She went to into his circle thus
and kissed him sweetly so
she knew that she would hurt the angel
but upward she must go
For even angels make mistakes
as most of us will say
and sometimes feelings you hope might die
never go away
For the flame still loved his mermaid
as he held her in his arms
He swore that he would keep her safe
and never do her harm
But she swam away so quick and light
back toward her love
her wayward angel, so cavalier
waiting up above
He gets it all, the mermaid's love
the spoils, that coveted prize
the looks of adoration and reverence
pouring from her eyes
the former flame gets nothing
just her rare and precious skin
but nothing of that adoration
from the mermaid's heart within
The flame is but a burning light
a spark or just an ember
burning for the mermaid's love
from new years to december
He wishes he could cast the angel
back to heaven for good
and be with his beautiful mermaid girl
the way he always should
If she would just give him a chance
then surely she would see
that sometimes loves from days gone by
are the ones that are meant to be
Monday, 23 July 2007
Disarming.
She's the world at my feet
The sun that gives heat
Take a rest and hold her near
Or she'll float away from here
Friday afternoon I relinquished the kids to Cole's parents for their annual summer vacation. For the past three summers Ruth and Henry have spent two weeks on the farm in Nova Scotia, being hooligans, swimming, shellseeking, turning golden pink and being adored. Cole's parents are heartbroken, just heartbroken over life and how it happens and they now pour the hopes they had for their sons into my children.
And the kids love the hayrides and the orchard-tree climbing and the beekeeping and the ocean being right there. It's a heavenly spot. They will return right after our first wedding anniversary, reluctantly. It's a hard place to leave.
I won't talk about how I feel about them being gone for so long, it's difficult and I've said it before about how it feels as if my arms are missing or torn off. My kids are my life. I just don't write about them.
While they're gone Jacob and I appear to have some time that is filled with....no obligations. He doesn't start his new job for three more weeks, our friends have scattered to all corners for their own vacations and reunions and getaways.
According to the list we made of what we want to do it's going to be a vacation at home consisting of large helpings of Thai take-out, bad horror movies and sex, with a little sleeping in and a lot of running. And talking. Which is perfect, really.
That's not to say we're not still struggling with the betrayals we've leveled against each other like the barrels of a gun. If you thought we had escaped unscathed, you'd be wrong. But we'll get through it. We've resolved not to allow baggage to weigh us down and a simpler existence of respect and love and appreciation means we function as two halves of a whole, burdened by little save for the sheer magnitude of our need for one another.
We'll be fine.
The sun that gives heat
Take a rest and hold her near
Or she'll float away from here
Friday afternoon I relinquished the kids to Cole's parents for their annual summer vacation. For the past three summers Ruth and Henry have spent two weeks on the farm in Nova Scotia, being hooligans, swimming, shellseeking, turning golden pink and being adored. Cole's parents are heartbroken, just heartbroken over life and how it happens and they now pour the hopes they had for their sons into my children.
And the kids love the hayrides and the orchard-tree climbing and the beekeeping and the ocean being right there. It's a heavenly spot. They will return right after our first wedding anniversary, reluctantly. It's a hard place to leave.
I won't talk about how I feel about them being gone for so long, it's difficult and I've said it before about how it feels as if my arms are missing or torn off. My kids are my life. I just don't write about them.
While they're gone Jacob and I appear to have some time that is filled with....no obligations. He doesn't start his new job for three more weeks, our friends have scattered to all corners for their own vacations and reunions and getaways.
According to the list we made of what we want to do it's going to be a vacation at home consisting of large helpings of Thai take-out, bad horror movies and sex, with a little sleeping in and a lot of running. And talking. Which is perfect, really.
That's not to say we're not still struggling with the betrayals we've leveled against each other like the barrels of a gun. If you thought we had escaped unscathed, you'd be wrong. But we'll get through it. We've resolved not to allow baggage to weigh us down and a simpler existence of respect and love and appreciation means we function as two halves of a whole, burdened by little save for the sheer magnitude of our need for one another.
We'll be fine.
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