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In the Secret
When I didn't sleep on the plane, I filled pages with words, trying to capture our last day together. The nuances, the shade of pink in the sunset he didn't want to miss, the dark blue ring around his sometimes green eyes. The "wait four minutes and find me...close your eyes...trust me...." The hard silver moon peeking through the trees--our audience while we drifted across the lake.
Today, my first day home, memories blitz me like a sledgehammer in their reality--fast, hard, and then. gone. For the first time, I feel shy to write it. Shy to tell anyone. So many things no one knows. Words left out of retellings. Looks. Touches. Stolen kisses to the forehead or the cheek or the hand or the tip of the nose. Thirteen weeks until we're together again.
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