XI.
She remembers me in her most vulnerable moments, too something-or-other to call but unable to say nothing. In short bursts of text, we exchange thoughts, our feelings, the realities of our individual existences. I question whether it means as much to her as me but am too cowardly to ask. Too sensitive to know. And I battle with myself before I tell her anything I tell her because I miss her with everything I am.
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