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Posted by on Feb 22, 2016 in News | 0 comments

Mistakes At Midnight

My silk robe was soft against my skin, and as I reached the bottom of the stairs I stopped. He was in the kitchen, making eggs. It was midnight. I watched him scramble them and caught sight of his hands. The hands that touched me. The hands that would touch me again if I was lucky. The hands that fit in the back pockets of my jeans so well on a crisp Sunday autumn stroll.

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