It’s the quiet love stories that I am interested in – the loves that never get spoken of, never get any semblance of fulfillment – the loves laden with the kinds of promises that leak from the beginning.
The loves that hold no water.
The loves that can be acknowledged only dimly in the back recesses of thought processes, the loves that get tucked away in storage units. Too precious to throw away, not important enough to warrant throwing everything else away.
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