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Tell me. Joy always requested this of me. She hated when I let things fester. Even the most beautiful notions turn to darkness in my mind. She wanted me to speak it. She hated to see it lost.
Tell me what you recall of our summer. We met in college. We were young lovers. She devoured my wounded body. She lived in an old shack house in Paterson, New Jersey. She kept a copy of the Marquis de Sade on her toilet bowl. I loved her. I botched it up completely.
She was too beautiful. She was too brilliant. She would have to leave me in the end. I wasn’t enough for her.
She tried to get through. I love you, you fool! She threw a shoe at me in frustration as I was sobbing. She pinned me to the bed and stared into my eyes. I cried and shook my head.
I’m so sorry. I wish I was better. I wish I was more for her. I collapsed into weeping. She held me. She really loved me. I know that now. That was twelve years ago.
Joy is in my life again. She is older and wiser. She is still stunningly gorgeous. She just got out of an abusive marriage. She is wounded. She wants comfort. She still wants me.
To be loved by you is to be completely adored. She whispers to me on long distance calls. She moved out of state. I should fly to see her. She always thought I’d touch her once more.
I told Lara. She wants me to go visit Joy.
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