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Blowing up.

At times like this, I like to pretend that you're thinking about me.
That you're saying my name.
With conviction.
With yearning.
With hurt, with love.
Lots and lots of love.

I hope you are picturing my face.
The contour of my body.
Tracing your finger along the edges of my faded shadow.
God, I hope it makes you drool.

10:19 p.m. - 2010-05-31

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