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| | jeudi, mars 09, 2006

Life passes by and we forget the details. I remember the bike ride home. The house you stayed in. A beautiful, old house with a big bath where we saw eachother's bodies for the first time in broad daylight. Days we slept. You worked late. And then you left for the mountains.
Mountains permanently covered in clouds. And when you phoned me I desperately tried not to hear you.

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