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musings

an afternoon reverie

When did you come back?
And when will you leave again?
I can’t trust you.
Or me.

I like talking to you. My thoughts escape my hold and give themselves over to you (wily, and slippery they are, careless of what this could do to me). I miss seeing you and yet, the anticipation of your face in my vision evokes a quiet terror in my throat — it closes up, my mouth dries up, my lips will not part.

I don’t know what is happening. Is something happening?

When did you come back?
Is this a return, a visit, or a farewell?
When will you leave again?
Tell me now, so I can prepare this time.
I can’t trust you.
And I most certainly can’t trust me when it comes to you.

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About Quinn

In it but not of it. A reformed player, now watcher. Speaker of raw truths.

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Raison d’etre

"Raw," she said. "I want something primal. I want something bare and naked. I want you to give me this life raw, unbidden, unhidden, free, fair, and true. Can you do that? Can you do that for me?"

One may only try.

March 2014
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