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The winding vines tighten around the heart fluttering, bird-like and fit to burst. Heady hours flicker like Kodachrome through the projector in my head. Over and over the film slides, sticking on those little moments, shared smiles, discreet glances, the ponderings of a mad man over the weight of the mug, the value of words, and a warm touch. Intricacies burn holes into my mind the color of your eyes, the chilling space in between my mind and my soul warming even through blistering reality.

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