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Wave | Aug 05 2002

Ah, a tale to tell. I thought of this just now as I said to me that this goes past the line. A grown girl I was with sent me some words out of the blue. It had been one year short of eight since the last words. This one was the one I had to kiss the most times. I am sure you can think of one of yours in this way. Now she shares a ring with a man and they have two small ones. Though I am glad for her for this, to hear her voice made so much come back to my heart. We spoke more than once and sent words. A phrase comes to mind when I think of her. To be hooked in. We were so hooked in each time. And once more this time. In the midst of that, she voiced the thought that we would write a book of a man and a grown girl who come to kiss all their lives, but spread out in time. Like in one place for one day and then not for ten years. I would like to not use the word kiss here, as it sounds so much like just one thing, but the word I want is bad in this game and lord knows the truth is kiss. But back to the tale. I told her she was nuts to think we could write such a thing as though it was not what it was. Do you see why I thought this? A thing that was not what it was. Hmm, the thing we have said to do with our hearts makes for a kind of clash from in deep. And that clash is sweet, is it not? You note this when you write of a love that is not to be so. So sweet that is and so like a wave that smacks one down.