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Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Making things real.

I've always known you were the one that wrote on my napkins and the on the corners of last weeks newspaper. Leaving little remarks that put a smile (even though I don't want to) unexpectedly on my face.

I've always known, somehow, you wrote me letters, letters in your own hand (because it's untidy and messy and I can see your tears from yesterday) because they're more personal and meaningful than something typed out on a computer.

I've always known you were the one that stood behind the door when I stepped out, giving me a fright (with blazing eyes and small pummeling fist coming your way) just so you could see my after out-of-breath-smile and just so I can receive that gentle I'm-really-sorry-I-made-you-die-in-like-3-seconds kiss.

And I've always known that you, (stubborn, funny, way too protective) you always came back to me, (overly, shy, a nervous wreck, happy-because-you're-real) me.

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