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Walking With Her to Class

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She chatters, gesturing excitedly. I nod along, eyes
drifting away.

Her voice slides
right by my silence. How do I tell her that
With you, I am always trapped in a
glass box. I try vainly to read the
flicker of your eyes and
your moving lips,
but to no avail.

We are water and fire, and it’s impossible for us to mix together. All that comes out is
smoke,
dark black voluminous smoke
that chokes my lungs
and then spits me out.




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